Out of the Blue
by tulip meadow
Summary: AU starting from the first book. Instead of Neville, it's Hermione who accidentally rises in the air and loses control of her broom at the first Flying lesson. She ends up being saved from a fall by Snape. The small accident has much further-reaching consequences than anyone could have thought.
1. A Broomstick Failure

**I've tried to post the story some days ago, but something went wrong with the copy/paste system on Archive of Our Own, where the story's also being published. Some fair warnings beforehand:**

 **1) Slow romance in this fic will be real slow. The main pairing is Severus/Hermione, but it's not going to go romantic for a long while. Let's face it, Hermione is eleven at the beginning, and it's Harry Potter and not A Song of Ice and Fire.**

 **2) There will be no Ron- or any other Weasley-bashing. I like Ron well enough, it's just that I don't like Ron/Hermione.**

 _Hm… a bit difficult_ , the Sorting Hat mumbled. Hermione felt her hands getting sweaty. What if she wasn't chosen for anything? What if she didn't have enough magic in her? She was Muggle-born…

 _Never worry, Granger, you will continue to the welcoming feast, it's your table that's the question,_ now the Hat was actually sniggering. The girl thought how embarrassing she must look, with this old thing comforting her.

 _Only you can hear my ramblings. The rest will only know the final choice. Well, it's not as hard as some. Definitely no Hufflepuff – too disciplined and idealistic for Slytherin. The question is – a bookish Ravenclaw or a valiant Gryffindor?_

The Hat seemed to be asking her, not just muttering to itself (himself?). Hermione pondered. She loved books – she will never spend her life without books. But friendship, loyalty and courage, they were so much more valuable. However, the thought to give up books and studying shocked her.

 _The most nervous and torn student I've had in about thirty years, since the day Molly Prewett went to pieces because she suddenly realized she had forgotten to store chocolate away from her brothers. Aaaall right, Granger. Tell you what. You don't have to give up books if you don't go to Ravenclaw. Fair deal? Okay? Well, relax then and be braver onwards, for it is GRYFFINDOR!_

Hermione almost cried from joy as she handed the Hat back to the spectacled Professor McGonagall. The Gryffindor table stood and cheered for her, and the red-haired prefect shook her hand:

"Welcome, Hermione Granger," he said. "I am Percy Weasley, one of this year's prefects."

"Pleasure to meet you," Hermione said happily. "You are a pure-blood wizard, aren't you? Read of your family in _Wizarding Clans of the South of England_. I am so afraid of doing things wrong because I am Muggle-born. Can you advise me in any case?"

Percy looked incredibly pleased with the question and glanced at his prefect badge:

"That's my duty. But you needn't worry. Every year we have a dozen Muggle-borns, and they adjust quite easily. Oh – see there? – it seems old Augusta Longbottom's grandson is one of us after all."

A plump, scared-looking boy was as un-Gryffindor-like as possible as he stumbled towards their table. But Hermione, adamant on proving herself worthy of her House, clapped and cheered for him as well.

Several more students were Sorted into Gryffindor, including the famous Harry Potter and Percy's younger brother Ron, who had so spectacularly failed to recolor his rat on the train. After the Sorting there was the feast, and Hermione could say she had never eaten anything more delicious than Hogwarts food. Her favorite dishes, and all tasted twice as good as at home!

Percy Weasley, eager to show off his prefect status, was glad to tell her some useful things about the lessons and point out the teachers at the staff table.

"Our Head is McGonagall, she also teaches Transfiguration," he commented. "Strict but fair, that is her motto. Never favors us over the rest – unlike Dumbledore," he added with a chuckle. "That short one's Flitwick – Charms and Head of Ravenclaw. A cool old man, and he makes decorations for every holiday. The guy in black is Snape – Head of Slytherin, teaches Potions and is _horrible_."

"You mean very strict."

"McGonagall's very strict. When I say horrible, I mean it. Especially to us Gryffindors. Always taking points off for no reason at all, and woe betide you if you're not skilled in his subject. Ah well. You don't believe me – you will see for yourself very soon. That one in a turban is Professor Quirrell, used to teach Muggle Studies, now it's Defense Against the Dark Arts. He was a competent teacher, but they say his last year's sabbatical ended really bad and he now stutters and makes mistakes. Over there is Pomona Sprout, Head of Hufflepuff and Herbology Mistress…"

Hermione listened gratefully. It was useful to know about the professors before the lessons began. She had always been the teachers' favorite at school and knew well that it depended not just on your marks and behavior, but on the teacher's character.

Mentally she made notes.

 _Professor McGonagall: seems to appreciate hard work and good behavior. Easy._

 _Professor Flitwick: looks like he likes a good laugh. The same as above._

 _Professor Snape: biased against Gryffindor. Reason unknown. Work extra hard. If possible, no excuses for taking points._

 _Professor Quirrell: rumored to make mistakes. Find out if he likes to be corrected (some do, some don't)…_

Late in the evening, the new Gryffindors were walked to their common rooms by the prefects. Hermione got to share her room with Parvati Patil, an Asian girl who was extremely homesick and upset at being chosen into a different House from her twin sister.

"Look at the Weasleys!" she whimpered. "All four of them stocked in Gryffindor! I've asked the Hat to put me in Ravenclaw like Padma!"

"The Hat should know better," Hermione said, trying to comfort her. "It recognizes your abilities and shows you your path to future life. Also this is not the first time for siblings to have been Sorted into different Houses. Sirius and Regulus Black, both later grimly famous as followers of You-Know-Who…"

"Shut up!" Parvati cried and covered her ears with a pillow.

Hermione felt hurt. She was trying to help, for goodness sake! But then she was the only child in her family. Perhaps she didn't understand properly.

As Parvati still wouldn't talk to her, she spent a couple of hours reading _An Overview of the Goblin Wars_. She felt that these wars were described too briefly and one-sidedly in Bathilda Bagshot's book that was on the school booklist.

* * *

"Gryffindor must win the House Cup this year," Dumbledore said firmly. "Harry Potter's there."

"So should we give ten thousand points to it just for the sheer presence of the Boy-Who-Lived?" Pomona Sprout asked bitterly. When students were not around, the sweet old lady that taught Herbology allowed to let out some of her hidden feelings. She was Head of the House-That-Never-Won-The-Cup, and naught could change it.

In reply to her anguished question, Severus Snape shrugged:

"I wouldn't be surprised if that's what we are to do."

His eyes flickered towards Minerva McGonagall, whose glasses almost fell off as she stood up angrily:

"Unlike _some people present here_ , I never favor my House above others! Potter or no Potter, they will get what they deserve, not more, not less! Professor Dumbledore merely wants Gryffindor to try harder this year. He's a bit partial to that House, which is natural, as it used to be his own!"

"Now, now, Minerva, calm down," Dumbledore smiled. "It's the start of the year, everyone's agitated and full of ambitions."

 _Except me_ , Pomona Sprout thought. She loved Hufflepuff – she grew up with it – but she had read _Hogwarts: A History_ carefully enough. Her House had won the Cup only four times – twice in the era of the Founders, under the guidance of the great Helga Hufflepuff, once in the Late Middle Ages when the goblin wars shook the school badly and Hufflepuff just happened to have the smallest loss of life, and once in the 19th century when Everard Bulstrode from Hufflepuff helped defeat a Dark wizard.

 _The House for dunderheads. They say so, and, sadly, it's true._

How she had hoped for someone capable of doing really well to be Sorted into Hufflepuff! Harry Potter – of course, everyone except maybe for Snape dreamed of having him in their Houses. That girl who was quoting _Hogwarts: A History_ – Granger, wasn't it? – very bright one, too. The intelligent-looking shy girl, Lisa Turpin…

 _Hufflepuff's not a House_ , she mused sadly. _Only the place to put those who fit nowhere else_.

"Now, as for the schedules for this year…" Dumbledore paused. "Where's Quirinus?"

"He said he had a headache and went to bed early," Septima Vector explained.

"There's something wrong with the poor boy," Pomona said. She remembered Quirrell from his Hufflepuff school times. "He was always a bit nervous, but never like this. Do you think it was wise, Albus – appointing him in this state of health?"

"He applied for the job himself," Dumbledore said (Snape grunted something under his breath). "He hasn't lost his intelligence."

"But his health!" Pomona argued. "He's going to get a disorder as sure as I'm standing here. Muggle Studies would have been exhausting enough, but Defense!"

"I think Quirinus will manage," the headmaster said with a confident smile. "Tonight we'll have to discuss the schedules without him, however…"

Severus Snape was still frowning. In his opinion, Dumbledore gave the job to a lackwit like Quirrell just to avoid giving it to _him_. Not many people wanted to apply for the jinxed post.

* * *

The lessons started on the next day, and Hermione was elated, as magic seemed to work for her – even better than for most of the pure-bloods. In Charms she was the first one to make her wand glow, which earned her a point for Gryffindor. Transfiguration was more demanding, but it only led to a bigger triumph – Hermione wasn't just the first, she was the only one to turn her match into a needle. Professor McGonagall beamed at her and gave her five more points – and with the fact that the stern professor rarely smiled during the lesson and Percy's words that McGonagall never favored her House, Hermione knew the high value of it.

Professor McGonagall kept her after class.

"You've got a natural talent for Transfiguration, Miss Granger," she said. "For your information, I rarely draw such conclusions after the very first lesson, but your way of handling your wand and the quickness of the transformation you made prove it. If you want, I can give you some books for studying this subject further."

"Oh thank you, Professor!" Hermione exclaimed. "I think Transfiguration is fascinating. I liked Charms in the morning too, but it's like in our – Muggle – world: some things are arts and some are science. Transfiguration is a true science."

"Correctly noticed, Miss Granger," Professor McGonagall said appreciatively while looking in her enormous bookcase. "There you are…"

She walked back to the desk, levitating a pile of books after her.

" _Transfiguration of Air and Liquids_ is a must-read for every expert, though it's considered too complicated to be studied at Hogwarts. Not that I agree – I can give you some extra lessons in this later. _Wand Movements in Transfiguration_ is a very nice guide for beginners. Don't think that it's old-fashioned because it was written in the 12th century. Some basic things never change. And here is my own _Mechanics of Switching_ – the first two parts should be easy for you, though the following are focused on the spells which you do not learn until the fourth year."

Hermione took the books and felt she truly was in a fairytale.

"Thank you so much! I will return them as soon as I can, I am a very fast reader."

"It's all right, Miss Granger – as long as they are not damaged or carried outside the castle, you can keep them until the Christmas holidays."

Transfiguration was the last lesson before lunch break, so Hermione had time to bring the new books to her dorm. She was happier than she had ever been. That was definitely an achievement – noticed and selected by a teacher on the first day of classes! In her small notebook, where she had previously copied her yesterday's mental calculations, she wrote:

 _Charms – good. A point earned for Gryffindor, Lumos charm mastered. Professor Flitwick: explains things very well, kind and patient._

 _History of Magic – tolerable. A foot of parchment written down on ancient Mesopotamian magic. Professor Binns is a ghost. Drills on without stopping. Selects and favors no one, only gives points for the written essays._

 _Transfiguration – excellent. Five points earned for Gryffindor, Basic Metallic Switching Spell mastered thoroughly. Professor McGonagall: strict but fair, exactly as P. W. had said. Tells amazingly interesting things. Said I have a talent. Gave me three books for extra reading._

The lunch break passed without anything of note, and in the afternoon Hermione, pleasantly tired and still hardly able to believe all these wonderful things were happening to her, added another note:

 _Herbology – good. Yet another point earned for Gryffindor, a lot of things learned about the use of roses in magic. Professor Sprout: very nice and pleasant, talks in such a way that even the least bright ones can understand. N. L. was no good during the whole day, but at Herbology he managed to comprehend everything._

She started doing homework immediately – time-management was a trait she had mastered since infant school to perfection. They had essays for History of Magic and Herbology and practical tasks for Charms and Transfiguration, and all of that was easy enough. Hermione supposed it was just because they were only starting.

"Will you please stop it?" Parvati asked after Hermione practiced the Nox charm for the fifth time, just to be sure. "This light-dark switch is very unnerving, you know."

"Sorry," Hermione said. "I just wanted to do the task for Charms."

"We haven't got it again until Wednesday!" the girl protested. "You have the whole day tomorrow for it!"

"Tomorrow we have double Defense Against the Dark Arts and Transfiguration, which means more tasks!"

Without a word Parvati left the dorm and didn't reappear until bedtime. _Must still be nervous._ Despite that Hermione was a bit sad that she wasn't getting along with her roommate.

True, she was getting on with teachers much better than with the classmates. She wrote yet more notes on the following day:

 _Defense Against the Dark Arts – fine. Earned a point. Mastered a more modern classification of specters than in Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts. Professor Quirrell: rumors aren't lying, he stutters a lot. He confused phantoms with poltergeists once, and gave me a point for correcting him._

 _Second Transfiguration lesson: better and better still. Six points (one for knowing the difference between Basic Metallic and Iron Switching Spells, five for correctly performing the latter). Prof. McGonagall: very pleased, especially after I stayed after class to ask her questions about the first five chapters of_ Wand Movements in Transfiguration _. She is extraordinarily clever. As for now, I think she's my favorite teacher._

The aura of wonder that seemed to surround everything for Hermione persisted, but the girl quickly adjusted to the new and unusual life. After all, the principal things were the same as at her old Muggle school. She thrived on lessons and reading books, though she continued to have troubles communicating with her Gryffindor classmates – only Neville Longbottom liked her because she helped him a lot. But it wasn't her fault that many of her fellow students weren't nearly as much interested in studying as she was absorbed in it. _Perhaps the Hat was right. I should have gone to Ravenclaw._

But as they had Charms with the Ravenclaws, Hermione soon got to know them. She became friendly with Lisa Turpin, a rather shy and reserved half-blood girl who, too, liked learning and reading. Lisa wasn't very talkative, but a good companion for the library. Among the Gryffindors, though, the only ones to talk to Hermione were Neville and Percy Weasley. The prefect must have heard of Hermione's successes, and he could observe her exemplary behavior every day, so he took to be a sort of patronizing guide for her like on the first day. And he was very intelligent – his greatest ambition wa to become Minister of Magic, so naturally he strived for full marks.

By the week's end, Hermione counted her achievements and was very happy to find out she had earned thirty-four points for Gryffindor in total. Every teacher had given her at least one point. Every one, that is, except for Professor Snape, who turned out to be just as nasty as Percy had described. He took to bullying Harry Potter and Neville especially (with Neville it was explainable, for the poor boy was terribly clumsy and slow, but why Harry – Hermione had no idea), and he had never given a single point to anyone during the lesson – even his precious Slytherins whom he praised. But for Hermione the lessons had good results in spite of it all, so she wrote "fine" in her notes after his class. Potions seemed interesting too, very scientific – and, strictly speaking, it was chemistry, only with magical ingredients. Hermione reminded herself to go to the library on Saturday and pick some books on it – she wasn't a fool to think that Professor Snape would agree to give a Gryffindor advice on extra reads.

She did sit almost the whole of Saturday in the library – not only Potions, but other subjects too needed to be studied thoroughly, and thoroughly means not only with books from the school list. Furthermore, there was a note that Flying was starting next Thursday, and this was going to be decidedly hard. Gym class was always the place where Hermione's skills were moderate at best, and Flying apparently would be even worse. Hermione struggled with _Quidditch Through the Ages_ and other books that even mentioned broomsticks and flying techniques, but she was still highly unsure of herself.

"Ah, yes, Flying's not something that books can help you with," Madam Pince, the librarian, nodded, handing Hermione the seventeenth book. "But Rolanda Hooch is a capable teacher, and you will learn just fine, with your assiduity. It's not like you all ought to play Quidditch for England."

That calmed Hermione a little, but not much. On Sunday, when coming to see Professor McGonagall for a discussion of _Mechanics of Switching_ , she asked her shyly if there had been any bad accidents in Flying.

"Oh, nothing one can't cope with," Professor McGonagall assured her. "I won't lie to you, we do have some nasty falls every year – especially, unfortunately, with those who hadn't flown before school," she tactfully avoided using the term "Muggle-born". "Yet everyone learns the basics by the end, and you don't need more if you aren't going to race or play Quidditch or do something of that sort."

"Quidditch sounds exciting, but I've never been the one for sports," Hermione agreed. "Now, Professor, I also have a question about that chapter on nonverbal Switching…"

* * *

On Thursday, Hermione felt almost as fearful as she did before the Sorting. Of course, everybody said that one couldn't be perfect in everything, that Muggle-borns never mastered Flying quickly, but for her it was a torture. Hermione Granger not topping the class in a subject? It would be terrible!

To comfort herself and those who listened, she read _Quidditch Through the Ages_ aloud during lunch. The leaps, dives, ducks and all sorts of movements were described there in every detail, but still there seemed to be the rider's own ability involved. And if the rider had none, then no description, however full, could help him.

"Hermione, don't fret too much," Neville squeaked, looking over her shoulder at the broomstick diagrams. "You can't be worse than me anyway."

Draco Malfoy, an extremely annoying first-year Slytherin, was sitting just across them at his table and bragging about his broomstick at home and the great things he did when riding it.

"A helicopter nearly knocked me off!" he told his Slytherin admirers. "But I saw it at the last moment and – whooooosh!" He gave a big wave with his hand. "Three-hundred feet dive. They've never noticed me."

"What is a he-lee-kup-tah?" one of the girls asked.

"A Muggle flying device. How I pity poor Muggles who can only fly locked inside in a box with a pack of primitive machinery," he sighed mockingly.

"How I pity poor nearsighted people who can notice a several-ton helicopter only at the last moment," said Hermione.

"Muggles who like their machines so much should stay in the Muggle world," Draco commented. "I am going to a Flying lesson."

Despite telling herself to stay calm, Hermione felt tears forming in her eyes.

"Why do some people hate Muggles so?" she groaned, lowering her head down so that the Slytherin wouldn't notice her tears.

"I don't know," Neville said miserably. "I am so awfully bad at magic I'd rather be a Muggle flying pehilocters. But Gran won't hear of it, of course."

"It's helicopters, Neville," Hermione corrected gently. "And you know what? I came to see Professor Sprout this morning (needed to get the foxglove for our Potions task), and our checked essays were there on her desk – well, guess what? Yours has ten out of ten."

Neville blinked at her:

"You sure?"

"Perfectly sure. Cheer up."

Not that either of them was very cheerful ten minutes later, heading outside for Flying. Madam Hooch, a middle-aged witch with piercing eyes and an air of impatience, was already waiting for them. She pointed to the brooms lying on the grass, and told the students to stand by the brooms and command them to rise up.

"Up!" said Hermione. _It's like a charm to make it move, shouldn't be difficult._

Her broom rolled a little on the ground and stood still.

 _Remember Professor Flitwick's advice? Confidence and careful pronunciation!_

"Up!" said Hermione, trying to convince herself that right now the broom will rise. No result. _Difficult without a wand, of course..._

She moved from her Charms technique to the Transfiguration one. _The magical field of the broom needs to be bent and twisted so that it would change its physical characteristics. It's just transfiguring a broom into a flying broom._

"UP!" she cried. The broom made a small jump, then seemed to hesitate for a while and flew up so fast it hit the palm of her hand quite hard.

"Now, mount your brooms..." Madam Hooch was instructing. Hermione did as she was bid.

"Get a firmer grip on it, my dear," the teacher said to her as she walked along the row and checking everyone's readiness. "And move your hands away from the very end of the handle; it's dangerous to hold a broom so. You can get turned upside down."

At least, Hermione wasn't the only one who did it wrong – to the Gryffindors' delight, Draco Malfoy with all his helicopter adventures didn't know at all how to hold a broom or sit on it properly. The only one whose grip Madam Hooch didn't criticise was, surprisingly, Ron Weasley.

"You must have been training to fly a lot already," she said approvingly. Ron's face got almost as red as his hair.

"But of course, you Weasleys have flying skills in your veins," Madam Hooch smiled. Thanks to Percy, Hermione understood what she meant – she knew lots of things about the five Weasley brothers who had already "made a name for themselves", as Percy had put it. Charlie, his elder brother, used to be a Seeker and Quidditch Captain, and the twins, now in their third year, were currently Beaters. _No surprise if this one ends up in the Quidditch team too._ In spite of her better judgment, Hermione felt jealous. Ron couldn't even perform Basic Metallic Switching Spell properly – and now he was better than her in _sitting on a broom_?

Madam Hooch told them to kick off the ground at her whistle. Hermione forced herself to stop musing on the unfairness of the world and listened attentively.

"One... two... three!" and a high-pitched whistle broke the air.

Hermione jumped up, certain that her broom will refuse to behave again, but the broom apparently changed its mind and decided it would rather fly. It shot up, up, higher and higher, until Hermione shook off her horrified stupor – and screamed, seeing she was about a hundred feet up already.

"Down," she ordered the broom. Rather, attempted to order. Her voice faltered, and the broom, instead of going down steadily, did a giant somersault and hit the wall. Distantly, Hermione felt a stabbing pain in her hip, but right now her only concern was getting back, back to the firm safe ground.

"GET ME DOWN!" she cried in panic, looking at the confused and frightened crowd below and feeling her stomach lurch at how far away the earth was. Madam Hooch was already up in the air on her own broomstick, yelling:

"STAY STILL!"

"Down, please, please!" Hermione begged, hardly hearing her. The broom, obviously confused, decided to heed the rider's words and dived down vertically.

"NO!" Hermione cried, losing her grip on the handle. The horrible device, wobbling and shaking, tried to point upwards, but something seemed to break in it, and it continued to fall in zigzags.

Madam Hooch was too far away to do anything. She almost fell from the sky herself to catch Hermione, but the broom wasn't fast enough.

Falling down, Hermione marveled at how detailedly she noticed things at the last moment of her life. Several owls floated up in the sky – Hagrid was standing near his hut, chopping wood... The broom turned over. Hermione saw the walls of Hogwarts, the window of a first-floor corridor opening – a figure leaning outside. The figure of Professor Snape.

He shouted a charm that Hermione didn't recognize – but whatever it was, her broom steadied at a five-feet height and hovered there quietly long enough for Madam Hooch to come down and put Hermione on the ground.

"M-m-my hip and leg ache," Hermione complained, finally aware of the pain.

"You must have broken something when you hit the wall," Madam Hooch said. "Come, my dear, I will take you to the hospital wing."

She turned to the window:

"Oh, if you hadn't been there, Severus! These Shooting Stars are too slow – the girl would have smashed on the ground before I got to her..."

But Professor Snape had already gone away.


	2. Quirrell's New Assistant

Broken bones weren't a big deal in the wizarding world, as Hermione found out. Madam Pomfrey, the school nurse, gave her a mixture that mended them almost instantly, so that by the evening Hermione had already joined her classmates in the common room. She was dreadfully ashamed of the whole thing. Not only had she made a colossal blunder with her broomstick, but she had screamed and panicked like a coward. Sitting by the fire, Hermione purposefully busied herself with _Transfiguration of Air and Liquids_ , unable to look the rest of the Gryffindors in the eye.

"Come now, Hermione," one of the Weasley twins patted her shoulder. "You should have seen the way _I_ fell from my broom at my first Flying lesson. George tried to hex me, though, so I had some excuse."

"I was trying to hex Flint's broom, yours got in the way!" another twin laughed.

"Hermione, it can happen to anyone," some second-year girl smiled. "Don't look like you're about to cry."

"Remember you're the best in the rest of the subjects," Neville said.

Hermione smiled, tears still in the corners of her eyes. At this rare moment, she truly felt the support of her House – despite hardly speaking to her normally, now they stood by her. _Maybe the Sorting Hat hit the point with its final choice after all._

"How did it all go after I left?" she asked.

"It was very exciting to fly," Harry Potter said, turning away from the wizard chess game he was having with Ron. "But towards the end even I was a bit bored. She made us all fly up and down, up and down, and then in circles. Nothing more."

"Flying up and down, up and down is a very useful trick," one of the twins said (Hermione couldn't tell them apart, they were constantly walking around and it was impossible to memorize which was which). "For Quidditch, for example."

"We are not allowed to play at least for another year," Ron said accusingly.

"Ah, Ronniekins wants to ride his broomie!" a twin snickered. "We'll substitute you for one of us in the first match."

"The Slytherins only know us by our hair, they'll never tell the difference," another added.

"Yeah, until you're up in the air."

"Even then they'll think one of you two has swallowed a Shrinking Solution," Hermione said unexpectedly. Fred and George stared at her.

"Hermione Granger? Making something suspiciously like a _joke_?" the first one raised his eyebrows.

"Are you sure you're Hermione and not someone else in disguise – say, a Slytherin spy?" the second asked her, laughing.

"Don't be an idiot – no Slytherin has the brains for this," Harry Potter joined in, pointing at Hermione's book. "Nor any normal sense of humor for jokes."

"Then perhaps I'm a spy for Ravenclaw," Hermione suggested, the cheerful mood finally getting to her.

"Granger's making jokes," Parvati Patil spoke, astounded, from the other end of the room. "That's the end of the world."

"It's just the _beginning_ of an end," Fred-or-George corrected her. "Do any of you know what Madam Hooch said? She said Hermione was saved from crashing on the ground by _Snape_!"

A collective gasp arose in the common room. Professor Snape, doing anything for a _Gryffindor_? That was definitely the very, very end of the world they had known.

"He might have thought I was a Slytherin," Hermione shrugged. "We had Flying together, after all."

"Hardly!" Ron said. "Madam Hooch said you were steadied only several feet away from the ground – you could be easily recognized, with your _noticeable_ hair and the Gryffindor tie and all that."

"I only wish Snape doesn't think that he can take two hundred points from us as a reward for saving your life," Harry muttered. "It's just the plan he can come up with. Speaking of which – Hermione, could you maybe help Ron and me with the Potions homework?"

"You _still_ haven't done it!" Hermione exclaimed. "But it's half past eight, and Potions are _tomorrow_!"

She didn't scold them for long, though. No one except Neville had asked her for help before, and she was glad for a reason to review the hometask.

* * *

In Pomona Sprout's office, merrily decorated with flower garlands and black-and-gold curtains, Quirinus Quirrell was drinking coffee with ginseng. He was looking pale and exhausted, and his lips trembled nervously.

"Quirinus, perhaps it would be wiser for you to resign?" Pomona suggested kindly, nudging a plate of chocolate biscuits towards him. "You are looking like you've spent a year in Azkaban."

"I c-c-can't r-resign," Quirrell shook his head. "P-P-Profes-s-sor Sp-Sprout, I h-h-have w-wanted t-t-to be a D-Defense t-t-teacher for s-so l-long..."

"I understand, my dear boy."

"And th-the sch-chool y-year h-has alr-r-ready beg-g-gun, th-they w-w-won't f-f-find a r-r-replacement..."

"I am sure Albus will find someone," the Head of Hufflepuff said soothingly. "Until then, probably Severus or Filius will take the Defense classes. Quirinus, please, I remember your stubbornness, but you are downright ill. Take a break. Go to the sunny south – ah, no, after your Albanian adventure you hold no affection for such things – well, some other place in that case. Go to the Swiss Alps, for example, there is a particularly nice little all-wizard village, Raffica di Neve, my colleague lives there. Fresh air. Healthy food. Get rid of that horrid pallor of yours and come back here to teach Defense properly."

"I c-c-can't, P-P-Prof-fessor," Quirrell murmured, a glint in his grey eyes.

"Now, dear boy, you are _not_ to teach in this condition. You speak at about a quarter of the normal speed. Think of it – your students learn only a _quarter_ of the necessary curriculum! Moreover, with this stammer you can't perform a single charm, and how are the children going to have any practice?"

Quirrell looked at her, blinking in confusion, and shrugged.

"Let me remind you, the fifth and the seventh years have their exams next summer, and Defense Against the Dark Arts O.W.L.s and N.E.W.T.s _always_ include a practical part. Just yesterday I had a lesson with the fifth years from Ravenclaw and Gryffindor and we found a small kappa in my bucket of water. Only Penelope Clearwater recognized it at all, and no one had an inkling of what to do with it. I was forced to deal with the creature myself, even though, as you well know, I never even took the N.E.W.T. in Defense. Think of it, Quirinus! They don't know about kappas in their fifth year – how is _anyone_ going to pass the exam?"

"I-I c-c-can h-h-have an assist-t-tant," the young man said uncertainly. "I w-w-will wr-write d-d-down th-the sp-spells and h-he or sh-she w-will speak th-them."

"An assistant from among the students?" Pomona scowled. "Not a good idea, I fear. Especially with the younger ones. If the student messes up the spell and creates mayhem, who'll deal with it? No, Quirinus, I'm afraid not."

"P-Professor, I w-w-will exp-pand m-m-my c-c-course. I w-will g-g-give th-them m-m-mat-terial on spells…"

"I'm only trying to help," Pomona sighed. "Remember that I have warned you when you have a breakdown and come running to Poppy and me."

Quirrell rose abruptly.

"T-time f-flies," he gave a forced smile. "I th-th-think I n-need t-to g-go and s-s-sleep a wh-while."

"Oh, but surely! Sorry to have kept you so long, Quirinus! But I do like my former students coming again to see me!"

After he had left, Pomona sat alone for a while, staring at the candle flame. How Quirinus had changed! When he taught Muggle Studies, he was an entirely different man – excitable, nervous, yes, but pleasant and good-humored, and also very like the Gryffindors, with his cheerful and careless way of occasionally breaking rules. He actually almost got kicked out for it. An affair with the student, it was rumored. But as the girl in question was a Slytherin, Pomona suspected she might have invented the thing or deliberately pushed it herself to get Quirinus sacked, because of some grudge against him. He wasn't kicked out, but he was forced to take that ominous year out.

 _I wonder what is the matter with the poor boy now…_ she thought. Grown, changed, turned Professor, for her Quirinus was still a boy of House Hufflepuff.

* * *

On the following morning an early autumn frost hit Hogwarts, and it was especially prominently felt in the dungeons, which were cold even on the hottest days. For the first time the first years burst into the room long before the lesson began – to warm up the cauldrons and themselves.

"In winter we'll have to wear fur coats here," Ron said, pushing his way to the door.

"And give Snape an excuse for taking points," Harry finished. "For breaking the dress code."

"Malfoy'll be the first to wrap himself into a thousand fox furs, mark my words."

Though it was very cold outside, Hermione decided to wait there a little. She didn't want to say her thanks in front of a bunch of Slytherins, after all.

Her hands seemed they were made of ice already, and there was no sign of Professor Snape as of yet. He always was a little late for the lessons, just to startle everyone with his sudden appearance.

"Miss Granger," he _did_ startle her. "You are late, it seems. Five p…"

"Sir," Hermione spoke hurriedly, "I am sorry, sir, I came with the rest of the class. I only waited here to tell you how very, very grateful I am for you saving my life yesterday."

For a moment there was silence. Professor Snape's face displayed no emotion whatsoever, but Hermione was sure she heard him taking a deep breath.

"In a circumstance like that any teacher would have done the same for any student," he said quietly.

She waited for him to take these five points – or perhaps more, since she had interrupted him – but there was another pause, and then he said in his usual voice:

"Miss Granger, are you going to stand here till the break or are you going to brew the Mending Concoction with your classmates? _Go inside and take your seat right now_."

Hermione apologized and hurried inside before he could change his mind about not taking points. The double lesson then progressed in the same way as a week before – Gryffindor bullied, Slytherin hailed. But Hermione's essay got the highest mark – she saw Professor Snape searching through it frantically for mistakes. Even he found none. He got the revenge, though, when Neville's potion evaporated in wisps of foul-smelling smoke. Neville lost ten points for forgetting to take the cauldron off the fire, and Hermione another ten points for not telling him to do so.

"It's awful!" Neville complained later on their way to Charms. "Whether you help me or not, he will twist and turn it so that we'll be in the wrong."

"It's odd, though," and Hermione told the boys about her encounter with Snape before the lesson.

"He must have been shocked," Ron said. "About the first time a person thanked him. A Gryffindor, at least."

"But he didn't take these five points off you," Harry said thoughtfully.

"He took the double amount during the lesson," she reminded him. "Why is he so set against Gryffindor, I wonder? It's not only in comparison with the Slytherins. I saw Anthony Goldstein from Ravenclaw and Dean fight over something the other day, and he turned up and took fifteen points from Dean for initiating the fight – without even trying to find out what in fact had happened!"

"He's just plain mean," Ron shrugged.

"No, no. He must have a grudge against some particular Gryffindor."

"I vaguely suspect I know who it is," Harry laughed.

"Harry, Snape has been biased against our House for a long time. It was someone else, not you."

"Hermione!" it was Lisa Turpin coming to them.

"Hey, Lisa!" Hermione smiled.

"I've just been to the library and found a most interesting book. You've read something on wand movements with McGonagall, right?.. Here it is," she took a heavy book out of her bag. Hermione glanced at the title. _A Classification of Wands by Field of Usage_.

"Oh, but that is curious! I do recall Mr. Ollivander saying my wand was good for Transfiguration, but I've never thought about how he found it out."

"Here comes Professor Flitwick," Lisa said, gesturing left. "Let's read it in the evening."

"Agreed."

Professor Snape wasn't discussed anymore that day, Hermione forgetting everything with the new book, and Ron and Harry talking animatedly about Flying classes.

* * *

"Ah, Severus," Dumbledore smiled as the Potions Master entered his study. "Good of you to come. The news of your yesterday's heroic behavior has spread like lightning."

"If that's the most important thing you have to say at the moment..." Snape began.

"Really," the headmaster continued, as if he hadn't heard, and imitated the Weasley twins:

" _Have you heard? The dungeon bat – Saving the life of a Gryffindor student_!"

"I don't know what the fuss is about," Severus Snape said sharply. "Rolanda has saved countless fools who couldn't keep their broom steady."

"But Rolanda's not Head of Slytherin who believes other Houses aren't worth a Knut."

"Someone has to help the Slytherins," Severus hissed. "Other people seemed to believe the reverse. Anyway, the accident with Miss Granger doesn't give people an excuse to stare at me like a Muggle at a ghost."

"A ghost?" Dumbledore suddenly said. "A _ghost_! Of course!"

"What are you talking about, Headmaster?"

"I have just had an idea – something Quirinus has been to see me about... Never mind," he added hastily, noticing how Snape's frown deepened at the mention of the Defense professor. "I was hoping that you decided to change your attitude towards Gryffindor at last... Clearly, I was wrong," with a sad smile Dumbledore munched on a small chocolate cake.

"Oh, I will change my attitude towards Gryffindor the very moment you change it towards Slytherin," Snape said. "Which will never happen. If you would excuse me, Headmaster, I have fifty-three essays to check."

As his steps faded away, Dumbledore grinned.

"Well, Quirinus, it seems I'll get you an assistant after all."

He rose his wand and performed the Summoning Charm – unlike true living people, ghosts could be brought with it.

" _The Grey Lady_."

A grayish-white transparent figure of a beautiful young woman with a dark-silvery scar on her chest floated through the wall.

"Albus," she bowed. "To what do I owe the honor?"

"Good evening, my dear," the old man smiled. "How d'you do?"

"As well as can be expected," the Grey Lady sighed. "I had an interesting talk with Septima today. She is a bright girl, I've always said it, since her first year. She has made a very original calculation of spectral magic power, using logarithms. Sorry, Albus. What was it that you want to tell me?"

"Well, my dear, you know that Quirinus Quirrell is back with us and teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts. But after his encounter with a vampire turned bad, he hasn't been able to speak a phrase without stuttering. Naturally, he can't perform even a simple spell. He has asked for an assistant, but all the teachers are busy enough as it is. And it's not safe to ask a student, even a N.E.W.T. one, to assist in a Defense class. Therefore..." he paused.

The Grey Lady nodded in understanding:

"Of course. A ghost can pronounce spells but they have no effect, and it can't be harmed by any of the petty little things the children practice with."

"Boggarts affect you," Dumbledore pointed out. "I've seen Peeves's one. You can guess what it was."

"Peeves is a _coward_. And he's not a ghost but a poltergeist, as if you don't know the difference," the Grey Lady spat. "Feelings of fear are diminished when you're a ghost. I have seen a boggart. It tried to frighten me, but with next to no success. Alright, I will be assisting Quirinus."

"Don't forget to call him Professor Quirrell in class."

"And what should they call me?" she snickered. "Professor Ghost?"

"If you don't want to reveal your original name..."

"I do _not_ , Albus."

"Professor Grey will sound better, I think," Dumbledore said. "Care for a chocolate cake?.. Oh, sorry, I forgot."

"It's nothing," the Grey Lady said graciously. "When is the next Defense class?"

"Monday, nine o'clock, second year, Ravenclaw and Slytherin," Dumbledore replied, consulting the schedule.

"Good," the woman smiled. "It's nice to have your first try with your own students. I'd like to see their little faces when I tell them to call me Professor Grey..."

Still smiling, she disappeared behind the wall.

"You know what, Sir Nicholas?" Dumbledore heard her speaking to the Gryffindor ghost. "Albus has appointed me assistant to Quirinus."

"Congratulations, good lady! I know you'll be an excellent teacher! You should take History of Magic, too, you know."

Silvery laughter rang across the corridor.

"Oh no, Sir Nicholas, that I couldn't. I'm much too fond of Ravenclaw students, and Cuthbert Binns used to be one of them three hundred years ago, and an outstanding one too. I _couldn't_ rob the boy of his job, could I now?"

* * *

Hermione's weekend was the same as the preceding one – Saturday dedicated to homework and the library, and Sunday exclusively to Transfiguration. Professor McGonagall was delighted with her.

"You make excellent progress," she said approvingly as Hermione handed here the exercises she had done from Mechanics of Switching. "I think I will ask Professor Dumbledore to put extracurricular Liquid Transfiguration in your schedule, starting from after the Christmas holidays. I thought to put it off until your second year, but then I believe you can manage Liquids now."

"I'm so glad, Professor," Hermione beamed. "I've almost finished reading the _Liquids_ part of _Transfiguration of Air and Liquids_ , and it sounds extremely interesting. But what about the _Air_ part?"

"All at once, Miss Granger? No, that will definitely have to wait until next year – _at least_. I doubt you will finish with liquids in a single semester. Transfiguring gases is a very complicated process, and mistakes can be deadly. I will not entrust such a thing to a first year."

Seeing Hermione was saddened, Professor McGonagall gave her a smile, a bit amused:

"Don't look crestfallen, Miss Granger. There are thousands of Transfiguration topics to be studied in the meantime. I think," she went to the bookcase, "I think I'll give you _Theory of Animagic_."

She took four tomes out, each seemed to be thicker than the other.

"It will keep you busy for a long while, so that you won't worry about Air Transfiguration," she said, with the same humored smile. " _But_ ," she turned dead serious, "you must give me your word you will _never_ practice anything written about in this _Theory_. I'll tell you in detail in your third year, right now it's sufficient to say that unregistered Animagic is a _crime, punished very severely by the Ministry_. The repercussions can be up to several years in Azkaban, and I needn't say an unregistered Animagus studying at Hogwarts will be _expelled_ immediately with no chance of ever restoring. I trust in your responsibility, Miss Granger, and I have ordered a spell detector from the Ministry, designed to indicate the use of Animagic spells in the castle."

"I understand, Professor," Hermione nodded.

"What is more, Animagic is highly dangerous in inexperienced hands, for the person performing it and for those nearby. Now, with the spell detector no one will fool _me_ , as I myself am the only registered Animagus currently at Hogwarts. So, Miss Granger – you will only read the theory and _not_ practice it, right?"

"Of course!" the girl exclaimed. "Professor, I don't want to get myself in needless danger and I certainly don't want to be expelled. I promise I will not utter a single spell from this book."

"Good," Professor McGonagall smiled again. "Now, on to your exercises. They are all well done, but the one with the Crystal Spell has a more elegant solution – you couldn't know it, of course, it's the level of _Intermediate Transfiguration_... Watch here closely."

And with a few swift wand motions she turned a tin teacup into a crystal glass and back.

"Try it yourself now."

In two hours a very contented Hermione walked by to the Gryffindor common room, carrying a beautiful new crystal jug she had produced from a teapot and levitating with the _Leviosa_ charm all four tomes of _Theory of Animagic_.

"This girl is mad," Fred and George announced in unison when they saw it.

* * *

On Tuesday there was their first Defense lesson with the Grey Lady assisting Professor Quirrell, and it was much more successful than the lessons taught by Quirrell only. The professor himself still insisted on stuttering through the theoretical parts of the lecture, but all the spells were now spoken by the clear musical voice of "Professor Grey". She also took the liberty of correcting Quirrell's mistakes (which left Hermione a bit dismayed, because Quirrell gave a point for every fair correction). The lesson went on like this:

"An st-t-tray gh-ghost c-can b-b-be d-d-dangerous, esp-specially if-f it-t is the ap-p-par-rit-tion of a m-m-murdered p-person."

"May I, Professor Quirrell? Not every apparition of a murdered person is dangerous," the Grey Lady emphasized the phrase and pointedly looked down at her own wound. "A stray ghost is a spectre that was brought to the world by some Dark magic, not by the will of the person himself or herself. Moreover, it is not necessarily even an apparition of a deceased – among the contrary examples are poltergeists."

Hermione raised her hand:

"But Professor, is our Peeves too a result of Dark magic? He isn't pleasant, but he has never done serious harm."

"He threw a torch at me five hundred years ago when he first came here," the Grey Lady said. "Good question, though, Hermione. The fact is that Dark magic isn't monolithic, to put it metaphorically. There are less Dark and more Dark spells. For example, the less harmful parts of it are studied at Durmstrang Institute for Magical Arts in Scandinavia. I don't know how exactly Peeves was brought to life, or sort of it – a flaming torch thrown _square at your head_ doesn't exactly inspire friendship and confidence. But it must have been a relatively harmless charm, or one used accidentally. I am sorry for the interruption, Professor Quirrell – please go on."

"S-s-stray gh-gh-ghosts are r-r-rep-pel-led b-b-by s-s-some un-n-niversal p-p-protection ch-charms, for ec-c-xample, the P-P-Patronus one – m-m-madam, if y-you c-could..."

"I am sorry, Professor Quirrell, but the Patronus Charm isn't studied even at the N.E.W.T. level, and these students here are first years. Besides, sending a Patronus to deal with a stray ghost is like Apparating to the other end of the room. Stray ghosts have a fear of clear bright light and ringing sounds. The more dangerous they are, the bigger's that fear. That's why Peeves doesn't fear anything of it much, alas."

"If Peeves's not dangerous at all, what is dangerous?" Ron grumbled as he copied it all down.

"I hope none of you will find it out, Ron," the Grey Lady said sincerely. "Please, Professor Quirrell, continue."

The new assistant was instantly loved by the whole school, the Ravenclaws especially.

"Why can't she take over the job completely?" Harry thought aloud as they hurried off to Transfiguration. "Binns teaches History of Magic by himself, and she's way better."

"I've heard Professors Sprout and Flitwick talking of this," Hermione said. "Professor Quirrell has wanted the job for a long time, and he's dead set on staying here. Professor Sprout hopes he will get better soon. The Grey Lady is just helping temporarily."

"Pity," Ron said. "Let's hope Quirrell gives up and resigns to stammer in peace."

" _Ron_!" Hermione said reproachingly. "It's a Hogwarts teacher you are talking about! I hope he does get better. He has _experience_ , and the Grey Lady can't have much – I mean, she died so young. You can't teach properly without _experience_. Not that I have anything against the Lady, she does her best, but we are covering the easiest things now, and what can the elder years have? Ghosts can't have power with any incantations!"

"Why do you think she has no experience, anyway?" Ron demanded. "Harry has fought You-Know-Who when he was barely out of cradle."

Harry's ears reddened and he started to wave it off, and Hermione burst into laughter.

"What's so funny?"

"Nothing," Hermione said between giggles. "Just imagined You-Know-Who barely out of cradle."


	3. Before the Match

After her fall from a broomstick Hermione suddenly found herself getting much friendlier with the Gryffindors. Somehow she was always keeping company with Harry and Ron, the twins pulled as many pranks on her as on everybody else, Percy continued to serve as a guide around Hogwarts, Neville asked her for help and told her about everyday life of the pure-bloods, and even Parvati, sufficiently calmed down about being separated from her sister, was now on speaking terms with her _. If I knew where the Sorting Hat is kept, I would have gone to it and apologized for my doubts_. Interesting as it was to read books with Lisa, Hermione now found the Ravenclaw girl a shade too boring. Lisa was so much into books that she never noticed the real world. _A pity I mostly have to talk to the boys, but whose fault is it that no normal girls are around? They are either like Lisa or like Parvati, no middle ground. Boys who don't study hard enough are, well, bearable, it's their nature, but girls who only think of what to put on? Parvati can't excel even in Charms or Herbology, and Professors Flitwick and Sprout explain everything so clearly that it's impossible to misunderstand._

Nevertheless, Hermione felt considerably less lonely. Her new friends continued to tease her about her love for books, but she felt they meant no serious offense – especially since she was a great help to them with homework.

The second Flying lesson saw three minor accidents – Neville fell from his broom, luckily, when it was barely off the ground, then Lavender Brown's broom went topsy-turvy, again at a small height, so Madam Hooch caught it without difficulty, and then Neville, trying to dive, snapped the broom's handle in two, which Hermione mended with a _Reparo_ ("Mr. Longbottom, don't blame yourself, these brooms are ancient, the Ministry never sends money for new ones – oh, nice work, thank you, Miss Granger – five points to Gryffindor"). Draco Malfoy was furious that even a broken broom handle turned to the Gryffindors' good, so in revenge he stole Neville's Remembrall, a little ball that went scarlet if Neville forgot anything (meaning it was scarlet almost all the time). No one noticed it – until they were all high up in the air and Draco threw the Remembrall away, clearly aiming at a particularly vicious tree called the Whomping Willow.

Before Madam Hooch could do anything, Harry Potter shot off after the tiny thing, which, after leaving Neville, grew transparent again and was hardly visible, except when it glimmered in the sunlight.

"Mr. Potter!" Madam Hooch cried, furious. "Back here this instant!"

Harry didn't listen. A few feet from the Whomping Willow, his hand clasped over something, and he triumphantly floated back to the group with the Remembrall clenched tightly in his fist. The Gryffindors erupted into cheers.

"Mr. Potter!" now Madam Hooch's tone was entirely different. " _Marvelous_! Ten points to Gryffindor! Everyone," she said, flustered with excitement, "on the ground, now. We have fifteen minutes left – I think it's all for today."

"Oh," Harry looked around, embarrassed. "Oh. I don't – well, ten points only for catching Neville's Remembrall..."

"Only for catching Neville's Remembrall!" Madam Hooch stared at him. "Wait until I tell Mr. Wood."

For Hermione, Mr. Wood's name held no significance at all, but Ron Weasley's face lit up, and Draco Malfoy's contorted with rage.

"Y-you think he'll make a Seeker?" Ron exclaimed as they walked back to the castle.

"I _think_! Mr. Weasley, he caught this thing, which is smaller and bleaker than the Snitch, riding a Shooting Star, after less than an hour of learning dive movements, narrowly avoiding the Willow! The first-year rule will be bent today if I have any say in this school!"

"Wo-o-ow," Ron said. "Congratulations, mate. Wait until Fred and George hear!"

Now Hermione understood. It was that Quidditch thing. Percy had explained her the rules, and in _Quidditch Through the Ages_ there was much information too, so she knew enough to realize Harry was very likely to become the most important player in the Gryffindor team. Percy had complained that the Gryffindors hadn't had a decent Seeker since his brother Charlie graduated, but, judging by Madam Hooch's voice, this problem could quite soon be helped.

Madam Hooch was as active inside Hogwarts as she was on a Flying training field. She marched towards the Transfiguration classroom:

"Excuse me – Professor McGonagall, could you speak to me after the lesson?"

Then, before they could process what was happening, she hurried over to the Charms classroom and returned with a burly fifteen-year-old boy.

"Mr. Potter – please come with me to my office, I would like to speak with you both."

Harry returned to the common room an hour later, looking still confused but delighted.

"Well?" Ron asked anxiously. "Did they take you?"

"Yep," Harry murmured.

" _Great_! Malfoy will go green with envy! You, the youngest player in a century!"

"Smashing, Harry!" Fred-or-George said.

"Excellent!" George-or-Fred said. "Now the Slytherins don't stand a chance. Madam Hooch has already told us."

"Where does this woman get so much energy?" Harry smiled. "She's like that Snitch of yours herself."

"First, Harry, it's that Snitch of _yours_ now. We only have the Bludgers."

"Second, Harry, if you say old Rolanda's energetic, you don't yet know Oliver as well as you should."

Three girls – two third years and a second year, the one who comforted Hermione after her fall – came running from the Fat Lady's portrait.

"Gred? Forge? I heard you talking of Quidditch," said one of the third years, a tanned brunette. "What's the idea?"

"They don't know!" the twins cried in shock. "They don't know!"

"Now, boy, Trelawney kept us late today," the other third year, a blond girl with pigtails, joined in. "And Katie had a detention."

"Had to shred blister bush leaves," the second year complained. "About five pounds of them. In gloves, of course – but I'd bet the git dreams of these gloves falling off one time."

"A rescue of a Gryffindor can only be balanced by blistering another Gryffindor to death," twin number one said.

"Especially if that another is on the Quidditch team. Here's good news for you, girls. _Harry Potter is going to be our Seeker!_ " another announced dramatically. "Harry – these are our Chasers – did Wood have time to tell you about Chasers?"

"Yes, yes," Harry nodded.

"So, meet ours – Angelina Johnson," the dark-haired girl smiled, "Alicia Spinnet," the blond one, "Katie Bell," the second year.

"Harry Potter," Alicia said in a disbelieving voice. "Seeker. Of our team."

"The Slytherins will be beaten into the earth, I am sure of it," Angelina whispered dreamily, no doubt imagining the event already.

With Harry caught in the whirlwind of Quidditch training and Ron nearly always going to practice to support him, the two of them more often than not asked Hermione to "take a look at" their hometasks. She refused point-blank when they straight out begged to copy her essays, but they already knew she wouldn't resist righting their mistakes anyway. This additional workload left next to no spare time for Hermione. Soon she had to rise at six – the Chaser girls, whom Oliver Wood dragged to Quidditch practice at the break of dawn, woke her up after she asked them to – and go to bed after midnight.

Two weeks later, it apparently showed. At their Sunday lesson, Professor McGonagall said:

"Miss Granger, you are obviously working much too hard. Look at the dark circles you have under your eyes! Perhaps I was wrong and it would be wiser to drop our extracurricular lessons until next year, when they will be easier for you."

"No, _please_!" Hermione cried, horrified. "I won't do without my weekend Transfiguration!"

The elderly witch smiled, obviously flattered:

"Fine. Then perhaps you will try to spend less time in the library on Saturday? You can use it to practice Flying or simply walk around, relax, you know..."

"I wish I could," she sighed. "But I have no other time to do my Potions tasks, and help Harry with his homework."

That convinced Professor McGonagall. Despite all her cold and strict exterior, she had a soft spot, that being House Gryffindor and its constant fight with Slytherin. The possibility of her favorite student losing points at Head of Slytherin's lesson, or of Harry neglecting the upcoming Gryffindor-Slytherin match to do his hometask, wasn't to be risked.

"I see. Well, in that case... I assume you've read _A Beginner's Guide to Transfiguration_ wholly?"

"Yes, Professor – learned it by heart, you can check!" Hermione said proudly.

"Then I will now give you a test your classmates are going to have in a month and a half, and if you pass it adequately, then I can let you off homework for the upcoming weeks. _No_ , Miss Granger, I know you love doing homework, but there's no point in you writing feet of parchment on Basic Wooden Switching Spell when you and I are already doing Animate-Inanimate Transfiguration. Come now – _Accio First Year Questionnaire_."

In an hour, with Hermione having answered all the questions and performed the necessary spells, Professor McGonagall looked through her parchment and smiled:

"Wonderful, Miss Granger. Ninety-nine out of one hundred (wait a moment, I will explain the small thing you didn't mention). Twenty points to Gryffindor – no, thirty, because you did it six weeks ahead of your classmates. Now you can even skip the Transfiguration lessons you have during the week – _yes, you can,_ I am very glad you like them, but this way you get three more free periods. Instead, you and I will be having our Sunday lessons twice as long."

"But then isn't it the same?"

"Of course not, because you won't be wasting your time turning scissors into clothespins, but progressing further. Besides, you already spend the whole Sunday reading books on Transfiguration, as I know on Madam Pince's good authority."

"Thank you, Professor. It will be better indeed."

"Promise me you will rest during these free periods."

"I," Hermione faltered. "I promise."

"I am going to ask every teacher how well you keep your word," Professor McGonagall said. "If I find you sneaking in secret to seven-years' Apparition classes..." she didn't finish it, and Hermione shook her head and promised once more she wouldn't overtax herself.

"Very good. Now, on to your tiny mistake – I can see you're anxious about it. That's in question nineteen, the illegal Switching Spells. Rather simple – you didn't put in that to produce full effect, Coin Switching Spell is _always_ followed by Glimmering Charm, because genuine coins have lustre that isn't only metallic but the result of special minting magic, which is different at each mint and kept top secret. The Glimmering Charm cast on base coins can deceive a layman..."

"But like most of the charms, it isn't permanent and wears off after a relatively short time?" Hermione figured.

"Precisely. A Beginner's Guide doesn't mention it, as technically speaking it's Charms, not Transfiguration. I say about it at my lecture – _no, Miss Granger, my decision about your free periods is final,_ I won't change it because of a Glimmering Charm. Merlin's beard, what a student you are! I see you won't rest now. This group of charms isn't due at your lessons until your fourth year... but you could ask Professor Flitwick, I am fairly sure he will be able to lend you _Wizarding Coinage_ , where there is a nice long chapter dedicated to Coin Switching Spell and all that follows."

Soothed enough by that, Hermione agreed to the change in her schedule. A week later she admitted she felt way better.

"I've told you," Professor McGonagall said. "By the way, Potter is also way better – during the lessons. I think he might be able to do with less of your help."

* * *

Settled into her comfortable enough routine, Hermione hardly noticed the days passing. She was reminded of it only by the giant hourglasses that displayed House points – the pile of Gryffindor rubies was growing, and Hermione felt her heart swell with pride as she thought that she was one of the main contributors. As the Whomping Willow shook off its last leaves, it dawned on the girl that October had come to an end already.

The wonderful Halloween feast, with shining golden pumpkins made by Professor Flitwick hovering above the table, had been turned into chaos when Professor Quirrell ran into the Great Hall, screaming that there was a troll in the dungeons. The headmaster managed to stop the panic, though, and have prefects escort students safely to the common rooms. After a while, Professor McGonagall showed up, a little paler than usual, and declared the troll to be done with.

"It's a mystery, however, of how he managed to get there," she said. "We have searched every passageway," Fred and George suddenly let out a quiet chuckle, "checked every protection charm, and everything appears to be in order. A full-grown mountain troll isn't a thing that sneaks around unnoticed."

"He is really – dead, isn't he?" Lavender wanted to know.

"This one is," Professor McGonagall looked worried. "But who's to say there will not be others? If we only found out who could let the beast inside..."

Her glance shot towards Fred and George, who looked back appalled.

"Professor, we do some sneaking around ourselves, that's true..."

"But if we wanted to let a troll inside, we would have warned everyone..."

"We wouldn't have let him into the dungeon corridors – we would have brought him straight into Potions classroom..."

"Enough!" the professor snapped. "This is no laughing matter, Weasleys!"

"We are not laughing at all," the twins said together, pretending to deeply frown. Professor McGonagall exhaled exasperatedly.

"Boys, do shut up, it's really serious," Angelina Johnson whispered. "If the troll had killed the two of you, we would have had to face Slytherin the day after tomorrow without a single Beater."

* * *

In the evening before the season's first Quidditch match Harry, Ron, and Hermione had an unfortunate encounter with Snape, who confiscated Hermione's _Quidditch Through the Ages_ on the pretext that library books couldn't be taken outside the school building. Some time later, Harry mustered the courage to go and ask for it ("He has already taken five points from us, and both his office and our common room are _inside_ the school building"). He returned without the book, but with some interesting news:

"I saw Filch bandaging Snape's leg. It was all covered in blood and looked as if someone has chewed on it for a while."

"Ew," flinched Hermione.

"Serves him right," said Ron.

"That's not all of it. Snape was saying about 'unable to keep his eyes on all three heads at once'. Can you imagine? He was bitten by something three-headed – and it's inside Hogwarts! Call it the safest place!"

"Now, this three-headed whatever-it-is can be chained or something," Hermione argued. "It can be in that third-floor corridor that is forbidden."

"I wonder what is in there – and why Snape tried to get there."

"It could be a dragon," Ron said excitedly. "Three-headed one, you know!"

"I thought your brother studied dragons," Hermione said sarcastically. "First, it is extremely unlikely that a dragon would be hidden in the school – such a large beast that breathes fire. Second, dragons never have more than one head. I'd vote for a cerberus."

"A what?" Harry and Ron both stared at her.

"A three-headed, extremely evil giant dog, originating from Greece," she explained. "They told me about it at school when I was, like, eight – about Ancient Greek myths about it. And in _Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them_ , there is a chapter on cerberi. They are found in the mountain parts of Greece, sometimes in Albania, Macedonia, and Bulgaria," she wanted to continue and tell the boys about the habits and life of cerberi, but Harry cut her off:

"Fine, all right! But what lunatic would drag a giant dog with three heads into Hogwarts? Until... hang on..."

He told them about a small but extremely valuable package he had seen Hagrid retrieve from Gringotts, and he and Ron remembered that almost immediately after that the bank was broken into. The question remained – what could this package contain? The boys started to make guesses, each one wilder than the first, until Hermione noticed it was getting late.

"I think I'll try and get that book, so that you, Harry, could finish reading it before the match," she decided, feeling she would be more willing to face a cerberus and a dragon combined. "I've lost less points at Potions than either of you two."

"A life debt is worth ten thousand points, so I've heard," said Fred Weasley from a corner in a theatrical whisper (Hermione supposed it was Fred, because he was examining his broom that had a label on it with his full name).

She ignored him – the twins could be really funny for an hour or so, but after sharing a common room for several weeks with them Hermione was a little tired of them sharpening their tongues at everyone and everything. Crossing her fingers, she left the common room, trying to maintain her determination.

Thankfully, by that time Filch, the horrid school caretaker, was gone and Professor Snape was sitting in the office alone, with his leg practically fully covered in bandages, pouring leech juice from a measuring glass into a retort. The turquoise substance in the glass bulb seemed to boil, though there was no fire around.

The door was half-open, but Hermione knocked. With a teacher like this, it was definitely better to take extra care with politeness.

"Who's that?" Snape asked, not raising his head from the retort as the potion slowly began to turn salad green.

"I am sorry, it's Hermione Granger, sir, first year, Gryffindor," she began.

"I remember who you are," he said, annoyed. "Now what?"

"Forgive me, sir – I would like to have _Quidditch Through the Ages_ back, please."

"Mr. Potter said it was _his_ book."

"I lent it to him, but I took it from the library, sir – you can ask Madam Pince."

Finally he look at her, his cold black eyes narrowing. Hermione knew he tried to find a fault with her behavior. She stood still, hoping her expression was impassive enough (Seamus Finnigan once lost five points for _grinning_ ) and her hair and robes were in a good state (Neville lost ten points for a torn sleeve, the result of his unsuccessful try at Charms).

After what seemed like aeons, Snape opened one of the drawers and almost threw the book at her.

"Thank you, sir," Hermione smiled, relieved. The potion was now ebony black with tiny yellow sparks. She would have loved to know what it was, but of course it would be suicide to ask Snape. It was a miracle his patience had lasted with her at all. Hermione dashed out of the office and let out her breath. She began to plan tomorrow's visit to the library, which would involve looking up this concoction, until she remembered that there would be only half a day with books at best. _Quidditch_! Hermione might have had no interest in it for herself, but this wasn't even a matter of sports. It was a matter of supporting Harry and Gryffindor.

As she ran back to the common room, clutching the book in her hands, she almost bumped into Professor McGonagall, fortunately, slowing down at time.

"Evening, Miss Granger," she said, and it felt a welcome change from Snape. "Ah, _Quidditch Through the Ages_! Very good, this one. You'll be watching the match, of course?"

"Oh, yes," Hermione nodded enthusiastically. "When Harry and the twins are playing – how can I not?"

"I hope we'll win at last," Professor McGonagall lowered her voice, as Snape's office wasn't this far away for them. "Last year's defeat was something of a nightmare."

"Professor, I saw Harry catching the Remembrall!" she assured her. "Now that you've given him a Nimbus Two Thousand, the Snitch will have no chance!"

"Harry's something like a live talisman," McGonagall chuckled. "The whole team's spirits are up because _he_ is there. He's got the gift, too – I saw them practicing... His father was a brilliant Chaser in his days."

The clock chimed ten.

"Come now, Miss Granger, it'll soon be curfew. Wish the team luck for me."

"I will for sure!" Hermione grinned.

* * *

The two dots labeled _Minerva McGonagall_ and _Hermione Granger_ stopped.

"Oh, no," Fred groaned. "Now they are going to talk for an hour about how to flick a wand if you want to turn a mug into a cactus. The way to the Quidditch field is closed. Well, let's wait for a while. Where's Filch?"

George consulted the map.

"First floor corridor, near the Transfiguration classroom."

"Mrs. Norris?"

"Staffroom."

"Anyone else near our passageways?"

"I don't think so... hang on, they are going away."

George was referring to Professor McGonagall and Hermione – their dots started to move in opposite directions. McGonagall was headed for Snape's office, and Hermione, as Fred had told his brother, was going back to the common room.

"Coast clear. Come on!"

In a few minutes, both were already standing in the moonlight on the empty Quidditch field. They bewitched two stones into working like Bludgers for half an hour and had a nice practice beating and avoiding them.

"The stones are too slow," Fred complained, ditching to avoid one with ease.

"Or we are too good," George laughed. "Another go?"

"Let's see the map."

The Marauders' Map, their long-time faithful guide and sometimes rescuer, was opened again. At the same time, Fred spotted a whitish glimmer behind the spectators' seats. They hurriedly looked down.

"Not to worry – it's Professor Grey as she styles herself now," George said. Indeed, the Ravenclaw ghost floated towards them, moving in some strange leaps, as if she was nervous.

"Ah!" she shrieked as she noticed them, but recognizing the familiar redheads, gave a shudder:

"You gave me quite a fright."

"Somebody in the Defense class said ghosts don't feel fear like we do," Fred laughed.

'That means the two of us are _really_ scary."

"You be quiet," the Grey Lady said with a tremor in her usually calm and confident voice. "Besides, as an assisting professor, I have a right to take points..." the twins exchanged worried looks, as they had completely forgotten it. "Let's make it ten from Gryffindor – outside, after curfew, unsanctioned entrance on the field... It's cold, isn't it?" she asked sharply, but with an unnatural, hysterical tingle.

"You'd bet it is," Fred mumbled, and they hurried to leave the scene.

"What's gotten into her, what do you think?" he asked George once they were safe in the common room.

"Well, anyone would have taken points upon discovering us," George shrugged. "I shiver when I think of the time when this place will be haunted by Snape's ghost... We're lucky it was only ten."

"Not that! She looks – she does look _frightened_! Even paler than usual!"

"Paler? I didn't notice. As for the fright, she probably boasted during that boggart lesson. She can be scared just the same as us."

The door leading to the boys' dormitories opened, and Oliver poked his head outside.

"You two!" he hissed angrily. "To bed! Do you want to sleep during the match?"

"Oh yeah, with Bludgers as pillows," Fred agreed as they climbed the stairs. Nearly Headless Nick hovered under the ceiling, and Fred called him in a hushed whisper:

"Sir Nicholas! Hey!"

"What's up, Gred and Forge?" the never-sleeping Nick wasn't bothered.

"We've seen the Grey Lady on the Quidditch field. She's acting," Fred hesitated, "kind of odd. I thought you'd better check on her. She looks like, well, really scared. We don't want her to start stammering and trembling too."

"It's the disease Quirrell has caught," George said. "It's infectious. Even to the spectres. Symptoms: shudders, stutters, general idiocy."

"Calm down, boys, and go to bed," Nick said. "I will go and talk to her. She might only be upset about something."

But at two o'clock in the night, when he floated above the twins' beds until they woke up, he didn't seem so convinced.

"She is upset," he said worriedly. "To put it mildly. She has seen something – terrifying. Won't tell me."

"But like what?" Fred asked sleepily.

"I have no idea! She's sitting there in the field, wringing her hands like in some Muggle ghost story, and she refuses to go back into the castle. She might be even not entirely conscious of herself, I think."

"Why?" George blinked, trying to adjust to the pearly-white glow.

"I tried to speak to her, but she stared into nothingness, calling for her mother and then..."

What was "then", the twins never got to know. The Grey Lady floated as graciously as ever, and immediately blushed deep silver:

"Oh! I didn't realize it was the boys' dormitory!"

"Do you think I would go to a girls' one?" Nick grinned. "What happened, good lady? I was just telling the boys how distraught you seemed."

"Distraught?" the Grey Lady sounded almost flirtatious. "I've never heard such nonsense! I was off for a peaceful quiet evening, and then some wild bisons commonly known as the Gryffindor boys decide to pester me with unnecessary questions. You two," he waved at Fred and George. "Sleep. Or you will be knocked off by the first Bludger tomorrow."


	4. The Jinx Mystery

"Welcome to this year's first Quidditch match, Gryffindor versus Slytherin," Lee Jordan, a third year and a good friend of the Weasley twins, was commentating. "The well-known Gryffindor team has had two major changes this year: Chaser Jacob Lawtes has graduated, with nine N.E.W.T.s to his credit, by the way..."

"Jordan, about the team," Professor McGonagall cleared her throat.

"Sorry – sorry, Professor – so Lawtes is now replaced by a former reserve Alicia Spinnet, and his classmate and the team Seeker Aimee Grettan, not that she was a very good Seeker..."

"Jordan!"

"Replaced by..." Lee paused theatrically. "None other than Harry Potter himself!"

The Gryffindors shouted and waved cheerfully.

"Pot-ter! Pot-ter!"

Hermione yelled with everyone else – it wasn't a time for scholarly behavior, she reasoned, since even Professor McGonagall clapped wildly and joined with the shouting. The Gryffindor team circled the pitch, waving back.

"Now here's the Slytherin team, last year's winner of the Cup, with rather doubtful tactics..."

" _Jordan_!" Professor McGonagall pushed his elbow, but Lee proceeded to describe the Slytherins, keeping the sarcastic tone and occasionally throwing biting remarks, trying to ignore the boos from Slytherin spectators. Hermione noticed Professor Snape looking at Lee hatefully, probably calculating how many points would be deduced from Gryffindor the next time the third years have Potions. _Well, I can't I blame the professor this time_ , she thought. _Lee Jordan is a good boy and I want Gryffindor to win as much as he does, but it would have been much fairer to have an unbiased commentator. If Draco Malfoy and several minions of his are jerks, that doesn't mean the whole House is like them_. She spotted a small slim girl in the Slytherin box, who gazed at the sky with genuine anxiety, and when Lee hinted that Slytherin Seeker Higgs had used Summoning Charm to catch the Snitch during last year's finals, the girl looked as though she might cry.

 _I will try and talk to Lee later. Why don't they select commentators from the Houses which are not playing? This match could be commented by a Ravenclaw or a Hufflepuff..._

Gryffindor was soon in the lead. Chasers and Beaters were flying like a swarm of bees, it was difficult to see who was where in the swirl of red and green. Harry and Terence Higgs hovered above the chaos, watching intently for the Snitch. One time they saw it and chased after it, but Slytherin Captain Flint blocked Harry. Madam Hooch ordered a penalty, but the Snitch, of course, vanished in the meantime.

Suddenly, Harry's broom began to shake.

"What's that?" Hermione whispered. "Is it damaged?"

"Dunno," Ron whispered back. "I've never seen..."

The broom gave a lurch and rolled over, as if trying to throw Harry off. It leapt, wobbled, dove a dozen feet down... very much like Hermione's did during the Flying lesson, only this time, there could be no doubt it was purposefully trying to get rid of the rider.

"It's Dark magic," groaned Hagrid the gamekeeper, who was standing by them with a pair of binoculars. "That's no ordinary damage. It can't be..."

 _Someone's jinxing it,_ Hermione's heart seemed to rise to her throat. _If only I knew how to stop it_... But she didn't – she read some books on Dark Arts, of course, but in their _Guide to Self-Protection_ for first-year students there was nothing about repelling an unknown jinx that made Nimbus Two Thousands go crazy.

"Someone from the Slytherin team," said Ron, looking at the green-robed players who immediately gained much confidence. "It must be."

"No," Hagrid shook his head. "That's no kid's work. Way too powerful."

"Give me your binoculars, please," asked Hermione. Resisting the urge to look at Harry and see if he's still on his broom, she peered through the binoculars towards the professors' stand.

Professor Snape was keeping an unblinking gaze at Harry, mumbling something under his breath. Hermione suddenly felt her hands going colder than in the dungeons. _Of course. Taking points is too meagre a revenge. What's better than to make the hated Gryffindor Seeker fall down?_

"Snape," she said. "He's jinxing it."

"What?" Ron took the binoculars and saw it for himself. "Hermione – but how to?.."

"I'll do it."

She ran to the professors' stand, pushing her way through. _Quick, quick!_ Up in the sky Harry was clutching his broom with one hand, two hundred feet of nothingness below him. _How come the other professors can't see it?_ She thought quickly on how to distract Snape. The newly learned levitating charm came to her head – a nice repayment for him for trying to make Harry fall – but then... he had saved her life only two months ago. She realized she couldn't just throw him down into the pitch like this. _Besides, if he dies, there'll be no proof he was jinxing Harry._ After some consideration, Hermione picked the Inflaming Charm. Set fire on his robes – it will be put out fast enough, but it will distract him from Harry. A jinx needs constant eye contact.

Finally, she was near Professor Snape, taking her wand... and stopped in her tracks. She recognized the charm he was murmuring. It was the same one he shouted out on that September afternoon.

 _He's trying to_ save _Harry!_ Realization hit her, however absurd it seemed. She looked up and saw the broom calming down, and Harry climbing back onto it. In a few moments, he made an enormous dive and caught the Snitch successfully.

Hermione barely had time to mix herself with the crowd – it would be at least suspicious if they noticed her among the staff, with a wand aimed at Professor Snape. Thankfully, for several minutes everyone was so absorbed in celebrating the victory (or in case with the Slytherins, shouting insults in the air or sitting sullenly and staring at the victorious team with hatred) that no one seemed to see Hermione.

Ron didn't believe at first.

"Come now, it's impossible!" he said. "Snape hates Harry more than anyone else – why would he save him?"

"No idea. But I give you my word – he was speaking the countercurse."

The only one not surprised by this was Hagrid, who said:

"Well, naturally! 'E's a Hogwarts teacher, it's 'is duty to help students even if 'e won't like 'em much."

The Gryffindors had a small feast in the common room to celebrate by themselves, and in all the joy they forgot about the jinxing story – only Fred and George started making jokes about Snape suddenly reforming and starting to save lives of the Gryffindors.

"Careful now," Fred said. "We owe the git _two_ life debts. Oh the horror!"

At these words, Hermione felt a cold wave wash over her again. Suddenly it came to her. Professor Snape saved Harry all right, but that meant... she swallowed hard. That meant _some other professor tried to kill the boy_. Rising up and feeling about to panic, Hermione excused herself from the feast, saying she had homework to do. She rushed up to the girls' dormitory and locked the door, shuddering. _If it had been him, it would've been expected. He_ is _awful towards us Gryffindors and Harry in particular. But who then, if not him? Who is aiming to kill Harry – and why? And what if it's not only against Harry, but against all of us?_ Hermione tried to remember what teachers were at the match. As far as she knew, everyone was there, except for the headmaster – he had business to do. _So, that eliminates Professor Dumbledore. Who else from the staff? Professor Snape's cleared. Hagrid too, unless he was doing a non-verbal jinx and I highly doubt it, he hadn't even taken O.W.L.s. Madam Hooch was keeping eye on the Chasers, as Flint scored several times while Harry was in trouble. I saw her watching him. Someone else, then..._

The faces of the teachers that already seemed almost like family to her came to her mind. One of them was – panic flooded her heart again – a would-be murderer. _It can't be Professor McGonagall,_ she thought desperately. _She wants Gryffindor to win, she wouldn't sabotage her own team... But what if all of it is pretense? She is highly skilled, likely to know jinxes... The Dark wizards hate Harry for defeating You-Know-Who. They must have sent one of them as a spy here._ The mere idea of Professor McGonagall trying to kill a student seemed horrific. With the other teachers it was the same. Kind, smiling Professor Sprout? Good-humored Professor Flitwick? Frightened, sickly Professor Quirrell? Sleepy-looking (with her nighttime Astronomy lessons) Professor Sinistra? Someone else, whom Hermione didn't know yet?

 _Why, oh, why was I only looking at Snape? I hardly noticed others. What if there's a whole big plot to kill Harry? What if the person will kill me now that I'm suspicious?_

Hermione couldn't focus on a single book that evening. The whole night she was plagued by nightmares of Hogwarts staff shooting Unforgivable Curses at her.

On the next morning she was due at her extracurricular Transfiguration. While usually Hermione nearly ran to the classroom half an hour ahead of time and waited impatiently for Professor McGonagall, today she forced herself to go. Her legs felt like jelly. _What if it was her?_ A picture came to her mind – Professor McGonagall coming and saying "Well, it was very clever of you, Miss Granger. You are a brilliant student, and I am sorry it had to come to this..." and then taking out her wand...

"Good morning, Miss Granger," the real Professor McGonagall greeted her. "A wonderful victory it was yesterday, wasn't it? I'm so proud of our team."

 _What if it's a trap?_

"Oh, yes," Hermione nodded, trying to smile wide. "An excellent start of the season."

"Partly thanks to you, too, as you helped Harry with his homework."

Hermione lowered her head, thinking that she could now be standing in front of a Dark wizard in disguise. Fortunately, Professor McGonagall seemed to think she was embarrassed with the compliment, as she said, Summoning _Mechanics of Switching_ :

"Well, let's move on. Last time we finished on chapter twenty-one."

During the lesson Hermione tried to behave as normal as usual, to ignore the hardly contained panic and suspense. Nevertheless, at the end Professor McGonagall looked at her with worry:

"Are you feeling all right, Miss Granger? You seem nervous today."

"I didn't sleep quite well – you know, yesterday's excitement," Hermione conjured hastily. _Her glasses and the look she gives through them. It always looks like she reads me as an open book. What if she knows? What if..._

Only in the library did Hermione manage to relax – Madam Pince wasn't at the match, and even had she been watching it from the window, the castle was too far away from the Quidditch field for a jinx to reach it. Taking a fresh issue of _Transfiguration Today,_ Hermione stared blankly at the pages, unable to read a word. She saw Dark magic performed yesterday. Serious Dark magic. It was possible that the culprit did see her, and thought she had seen him or her too.

"Ah, Miss Granger!" the cheery voice of little Professor Flitwick almost made her jump. "Remember you asked me about _Wizarding Coinage_? Here it is, just owled from my London house..."

Uttering a "thank you", Hermione took the book with trembling hands. The old man was smiling, his kind eyes sparkling with joy, and Hermione felt her throat tighten at the notion that just as well it could have been him... _I've heard he used to be a duelling champion. And Charms is his speciality after all. What if he's now thinking how to dispose of the unwanted witness in a better way?_ She had read many detective novels, and the fate of unwanted witnesses wasn't one to be envied.

The following week was a torture. At every lesson, as the teachers praised her and gave her points, Hermione didn't feel the usual elation. Instead, fear gripped her heart anew, and the question buzzed in her mind: _What if this is the one?_ Only with her fierce concentration she managed to keep studying, waiting for Dark wizards to catch her at any moment. She read many books on Defense now, practiced the Shield Charm in secret – but she knew she wouldn't stand a chance against some fully-qualified Dark sorcerer.

On Friday Hermione ran to the Potions classroom as if it was an underground shelter in a bombed town. She was already warming up her cauldron fifteen minutes before the beginning of the lesson, when Professor Snape emerged from his office.

"Showing off again, Miss Granger?" he asked silkily. "Students may not do anything with their cauldrons until the lessons start _and_ I say so. Fifteen points from Gryffindor."

Hermione put out the fire without a word of complaint. _At least point-losing and detention are the worst things that can happen to me in here. Not Dark jinxes and hexes._ Snape must have expected her to leave the classroom and wait for the rest of the students to arrive, but she didn't move. It was nice to feel safe after four days of paranoia.

"Miss Granger, correct me if I am mistaken, but I believe the lesson isn't to start for a quarter of an hour."

"N-no, sir, it hasn't begun yet," she agreed weakly.

"Does it seem that a presence of a student is needed here right now?"

"No, it doesn't, sir."

"Therefore, you must put your brains to use and figure out where to spend the next fifteen minutes."

"Yes, sir."

 _Only fifteen minutes. Right near the door. Calm down._ Hermione stood up to leave.

"Miss Granger," called Snape. "The next time you try to hex me, you might do it more discreetly."

She turned around, terrified at having been caught:

"Oh, sir! I wasn't..."

"You haven't done it because I noticed you at time," he said coldly.

"Sir, I'm sorry, there has been a mistake..."

"A mistake? So you were trying to hex Minerva McGonagall in fact? Then I must add that your aim is dreadful."

"No, sir!" she cried, tears forming in her eyes. "Forgive me, it was a mistake – I recognized the charm you used and I knew it was..."

"Let me get it clear – you suspected me of jinxing Potter's broom?" Snape asked, his voice dangerously calm. But it was pointless to lie.

"I am very sorry, sir," she whispered, her face ablaze. _Well, it is solely my fault. Neither Ron nor Hagrid would have thought it – I was the first to suspect him._

"Fifteen more points from Gryffindor, be grateful it isn't more," he hissed through gritted teeth. "Not your lucky day, Miss Granger?"

"Do you know who was it, sir?" Hermione asked, surprising herself with her sudden daring. "Who jinxed..."

"When I need help from a meddlesome eleven-year-old know-it-all, I will let you know," said Snape. "I suggest you wait for your _friends_ and keep quiet from now on."

Tears fell down her face as she waited by the door. Not only was she still in the dark about the true culprit, but she had lost thirty points. Her last week's excellent Transfiguration results as good as annulled! Thoughts of Transfiguration brought back her suspicions, and she couldn't have been more relieved when the lesson finally began.

Harry looked extremely uneasy, and Hermione knew why – she told him too, of course, that Snape's counterjinx prevented him from falling. Now Snape hadn't changed his attitude towards Harry a bit, and the latter tried to perceive whether Snape wanted gratitude or would scoff at it. Hermione couldn't know that either – Snape received _her_ thanks adequately enough, but then he didn't detest her more than he detested everyone else. The worst he could say of her was, as she found out minutes ago, "a meddlesome know-it-all". But against Harry he seemed to have a special grudge that went far beyond the boy's mediocre Potions skills and tendency towards disregarding rules.

In the end Harry said nothing, and Hermione felt it was the right way. Had Snape wanted thankfulness, he would given Harry a lecture on, say, not being even moderately grateful to someone who saved him from a pathetic death – Hermione could almost see him standing by Harry's cauldron and drawling these words.

When the bell chimed, signalling the end of the second Potions, Hermione's heart skipped a beat. She was going to leave one of the few safe places of the castle, and it's a long way from the dungeons both to the library and to Hagrid's hut. Of course, after pondering it for a while, Hermione excluded Argus Filch and his cat from the list of suspects – she had never seen Filch do as much as a _Lumos_ charm, most probably he was a Squib, and the cat... well, cats, as far as books and common sense said, couldn't jinx broomsticks. Unless it was an Animagus – but Professor McGonagall now had a detector for these, and had there been anything fishy with Mrs. Norris, it would have come out now. But Filch and Mrs. Norris weren't exactly friendly, and, unlike Snape, Madam Pince, and even Hagrid, obviously knew no magic at all. They wouldn't be able to protect her.

 _Where to go_? Hermione thought, as the whole class rose to leave. _Hagrid's hut is far away, a better place to hide. Hagrid will talk about his pet monsters for hours if you let him. But then... he only does bits of magic with his umbrella, and even that is in secret. What's more, he can be away now. The library it is then. Madam Pince never leaves her post._

Feeling the tremor in her hands returning, she stuffed _One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi_ into her bag and grasped _Magical Drafts and Potions_ – but as Draco Malfoy banged the door loudly when exiting the classroom, Hermione jolted from the sudden sound, and the book slipped from her fingers – right into the cauldron.

Harry and Ron, who were waiting for her, opened their mouths in horror.

Hermione shut her eyes, wishing she could just disappear.

"Ten points from Gryffindor for damaging a course book," said Snape's voice. " _Accio_ Magical Drafts and Potions. _Scourgify._ "

She opened her eyes to see him shoving the dry and clean book into the bag. She wanted to say she was sorry, but then she had already said it several times, and her throat and tongue suddenly went dry as paper.

Signalling the three of them to wait, Snape vanished in his office.

"Hermione?" asked Harry in a hushed whisper. "What _is_ the matter with you?"

"You're not yourself since the Quidditch match," Ron agreed. "Why?"

"Why?" Hermione's voice rose to a hysterical shrill. "Why? A Dark curse almost killed you, Harry, and we have no idea where it came from – and you ask me _why_?"

Before either Harry or Ron could reply, Snape returned with a small vial in his hand.

"Drink it, Miss Granger."

Hermione looked at the potion and immediately recognized it as a Calming Concoction. She smiled feebly and took it. Harry and Ron, who, of course, hadn't read _Magical Drafts and Potions_ beyond the last given hometask, looked very suspicious, and Ron even gestured to her to be wary of the vial's contents. She rolled her eyes at him:

"Don't be silly, it's only a Calming Concoction," with this words, she gulped it down. Snape's face betrayed no emotion, as usual, but a faint rise of his eyebrows told her he was impressed.

"I don't want hysterical fits to disrupt my classes," was the only thing he said, though. "Out with you three."

The Calming Concoction's effects lasted, to Hermione's surprise, through the whole weekend and into Monday. In _Magical Drafts and Potions_ it was said to work only for a day. But Snape must have modified it somehow, because on Tuesday Hermione, too, felt calm and relaxed upon waking up. She thought that perhaps her nerves healed on their own, only stimulated by the potion. To test the theory, she deliberately ate her breakfast slowly until the bell chimed, showing Hermione would be at least five minutes late to Defense. To her own shock, she finished eating and walked to the classroom quickly, but not in the least nervously. Then she knew she was still under the potion's influence – usually, if she was late even for a minute, she went to pieces and ran like the wind, wishing one could Apparate at Hogwarts.

Professor Quirrell didn't deduct points when you were less than fifteen minutes late – that's why Hermione knew her small experiment was safe. Marveling inwardly at her own calm disposition, she sat and listened to what Professor Quirrell was speaking.

Then she noticed it. The odd thing that didn't bother her a week before, because she was much too panicky, but now it was impossible to miss. The Grey Lady still assisted Quirrell, but she was strangely quiet, didn't correct him (unwittingly thus helping Hermione to earn six points during the lesson), and spoke in short phrases.

"Fred and George told me she had sort of a breakdown the night before Quidditch," Ron whispered. "She pretends she's fine, but..."

"No talking, no talking!" the Grey Lady said good-naturedly. "Listen what Professor Quirrell says."

 _A breakdown? But ghosts don't have breakdowns..._ Hermione wondered to herself, writing down different ways to fight mermen. _They can cry constantly like that annoying Moaning Myrtle, but if they don't, they_ don't! _And the Grey Lady of all, so composed!_

After the lesson, she stayed to ask Professor Quirrell, after ensuring the Grey Lady has left:

"Do you think there might be anything wrong with your assistant?" she asked timidly. "She seems – well, nervous."

She realized it wasn't very polite to talk of nervousness to Quirrell, but it was too late. He didn't seem to notice, however.

"I d-d-don't kn-now," he said, looking positively awestruck. "I w-w-will ask h-her th-the n-n-next t-t-time sh-she c-comes h-here."

Which meant it would get nowhere, as the Grey Lady would certainly assure him she was absolutely all right.

Defense was followed by Transfiguration – meaning a free period for Hermione. She went to the library to do research about that broomstick jinx. Now that she wasn't constantly thinking of Dark wizards lurking in the corners, she could again focus on books.

On this day she finally found it – in an obscure book, lying very close to the Restricted Section, titled _Movement Jinxes_. This one, pronounced in an extremely complicated way, would make any transport dispose of whoever or whatever was being transported. There was a vivid picture of "Death Eaters jinxing a Muggle train, Spring of 1979" – even Hermione with her calmed nerves flinched and shivered, seeing a train roll from the rails, people falling out of the windows, blood-stained from the glass shards. The article about this jinx stated that the only very strong Dark wizards could perform it, and there was no direct countercurse. As possible means of protection the book suggested the universal Shield Charm and several others, including the Balance Charm which Hermione recognized as the one that saved her and Harry. _  
_

That was all she could find. _Excellent. Not any Dark wizard, but a very strong Dark wizard. How optimistic. What can I do?_

The first solution seem to present itself. _Go to Professor Dumbledore. Even You-Know-Who was afraid of him_ _. He'll take care of the whole matter. Professor Snape is right, children like me shouldn't mix with Dark magic._ But what could she say to the headmaster? _Professor Dumbledore, I'm sorry, I think a powerful Dark wizard is hiding among the school staff. On what grounds do I think so? Because Harry's broom tried to throw him off_.

But then he wouldn't necessarily believe her. After all, the Shooting Stars acted very much like this completely on their own accord. _They are old as the hills – Harry's Nimbus is brand new..._ Then a much worse thought hit Hermione: what if she wasn't allowed to see Dumbledore? Students came to the headmaster only in dire need and when there was no one else available – usually all problems were dealt with by the Head. The Head of the House must be asked first, for a permission to see Professor Dumbledore... _"I am sorry, Professor McGonagall, can I visit the headmaster?" "Miss Granger, what's the matter? The headmaster is very busy. I am sure I can help you." "I am sure you can, but I suspect you of secretly indulging in the Dark Arts."_ Ridiculous!

 _Why should_ I _worry about it? Harry's perfectly all right. No one has launched at me, shooting Unforgivables. Professor Snape obviously knows something, and maybe it will be much better to let him deal with all this. Hermione, wake up! He's an expert in the Dark Arts, how in the world can a first-year student be of assistance to him? He must have already spoken to the headmaster, too. Goodness, Hermione, you have heard lots of times that Hogwarts is the safest place in the world while Albus Dumbledore is there. What if there is a Dark wizard? He'll soon be exposed, convicted, and will regret the day he came to the Quidditch match. Innocent until proven guilty, Hermione Granger, and you should stop shooting suspicious looks at your professors. It gets you nowhere. Besides, probably the wizard could be a stranger – hidden under something like an Invisibility Cloak._

With this thought, she closed _Movement Jinxes_ and put it back onto the shelf. Then she returned to her half-forgotten pile of Transfiguration books, and was soon happily experimenting with a passing horse-fly, which she turned into a rubber ball and back.

The after-effects of the Calming Concoction wore out only by the end of Saturday.


	5. The Killing Curse

The last month before Christmas holidays passed quite peacefully. No Dark magic had occurred again, all the teachers behaved normally, and Hermione began to think the issue was so small that it had been already sorted out. As Professor McGonagall gave her another thirty points for passing the next test with full marks weeks ahead of the class, Hermione felt quite ashamed of her suspicions.

"Are you going home for the holidays?" Professor McGonagall asked on the same day. Hermione nodded.

"I suppose that for a rule-abiding girl like you it's needless to repeat, but still I warn you: no use of magic at home."

"Oh, my parents won't want it," Hermione smiled. "They are proud of me, but they don't like magic performed in front of them – consider it unscientific. I remember, when we got the letter from Hogwarts, they were sceptic for a long time. Until Professor Sinistra showed up, of course, and made a shooting star fly in zigzags. I doubt they'll appreciate it if I start turning toothpicks into needles. Toothpicks and toothbrushes are as precious to them as wands to wizards."

Professor McGonagall chuckled:

"As Arthur Weasley likes to say, your folk is ingenious in inventing its own magic. Now, Miss Granger, Hogwarts Express leaves early tomorrow morning. You should sort your things – if there are any of them you don't need to take home, you should bring them to me or to one of your prefects."

"I've already arranged it, ma'am," said Hermione. "Percy told me. There's not much, though, that I want to leave here. The cauldron, the telescope, the two spare sets of robes, and the gloves – oh, and _History of Magic_ and _Magical Theory_."

"What about the essays?"

"I've already done the ones Professor Binns and Professor Flitwick asked for," said Hermione modestly. "Oh, by the way – I almost forgot – here are all the books you lent me in September."

 _Wand Movements in Transfiguration_ , _Transfiguration of Air and Liquids_ , _Mechanics of Switching_ , and _Theory of Animagic_ levitated straight to the bookshelf, and with a flicker of her wand Professor McGonagall sent them to the places where they used to stand.

"Have you finished reading them all?" she asked.

"Yes," Hermione nodded. "They were all so interesting, it was always such a pity when they ended!"

"Well, then I'll bear in mind to pick some new ones for you for the next semester!" Professor McGonagall shook her hand. "I know I repeat myself, but excellent work, Miss Granger. Keep it up."

Flushed with happiness, Hermione was about to say goodbye and go to pack her trunk, when suddenly they both jumped as a horrible scream echoed from the third floor.

"What's that?" the girl whispered.

"I reckon it's the voice of Peeves!" Professor McGonagall hurried to the door, readying her wand. Hermione ran after her.

"Nooo! It's not meee!" now Hermione, too, recognized the poltergeist, but the usually arrogant squeaky voice sounded positively horrified. _What is happening? First the Grey Lady, now Peeves..._

The screams were coming from the entrance to the forbidden third-floor corridor. As Professor McGonagall and Hermione came there, they saw already quite a crowd of agitated students, and Professor Snape attempting to maintain some kind of order. To say that Professor Snape _attempted_ to do it, but mostly failed, meant that it was no ordinary trick of the hooligan poltergeist.

"What's happening?" McGonagall exclaimed. "Severus?.."

"The Grey Lady," he said. "You," he motioned to the students, "stand _aside_ , Merlin's hat!"

The students didn't obey instantly as they usually did when Snape was around. As they finally stepped back to allow Professor McGonagall to pass, Hermione noticed several girls crying. Lisa Turpin was sobbing wildly on some Chinese girl's shoulder.

The scene that they saw, however, was indeed one to make even Snape lose his nerve. The Grey Lady was lying perfectly still on the ground – lying, not hovering above it! – her greyish white hue changed to bright green, a look of utter terror frozen on her beautiful face. Peeves was howling somewhere under the ceiling, assuring everyone it wasn't him for the twentieth time.

Professor McGonagall gulped, her face paling, and clutched Snape's arm.

"What – how – what do you think it was?"

"I have no idea," Snape murmured. "But this shade of color suggests – again, merely suggests – that the Grey Lady was hit with the Killing Curse."

"The same curse that killed my parents!" Hermione heard Harry whisper somewhere in the crowd.

"A K-Killing Curse?" McGonagall choked through. "In the c-castle? Used on a _ghost_?"

"Very odd," Snape agreed. "If a person is killed with Avada Kedavra, he or she can't stay as a ghost, but no one has ever tried it on someone who _is_ a ghost already."

"That one who tried this time – must have been really desperate."

"What's the awful noise?" the Slytherin ghost, the Bloody Baron, flew through the floor. "I can hear it the dungeons. Ah! _Peeves_? Making trouble again?!" he growled, drawing his transparent sword. Seeing the Baron, Peeves screamed with a renewed vigor:

"It wasn't me, Your Bloodiness! I swear it wasn't! I swear! I only found her!"

"Found whom?"

"See for yourself, Baron," said Snape grimly.

At the sight of the Grey Lady, the Bloody Baron's expression suddenly changed from rage to something quite different – something Hermione would have never expected to see in the face of the dreadful Slytherin ghost. Deep grief and anguish, so strong it could tear your heart apart just from seeing it. Like lightning, the Baron leapt towards the lifeless figure.

"Helena!" he cried, hugging the spectral body with his spectral arms. " _Helena_! Who did it to you?"

Eyes shining madly, he turned towards the crowd:

" _Who did this? WHO DID THIS?!_ "

"We don't know," Snape said cautiously – even he looked shocked at the Baron's behavior. "But we will find out."

"Not me, nooot meeeee..."

"Shut up!" the Baron roared, waving his sword at Peeves, who curled on the chandelier in fright. "You'd better find it, Snape. Or I'll do it myself. I'll rip the throat of every person in this castle until I find the one who attacked Helena," he growled. "Don't think I can't touch you living people. I _will_ if you don't bring me Helena's murderer."

Turning back to the silent form of the Grey Lady, he lowered his head. To her astonishment, Hermione realized that his shoulders were shaking because the fearsome Baron was actually _sobbing_.

Peeves shot like a bullet towards the hospital wing.

"MADAM POMFREEEEEEY!" he yelled. "QUIICK!"

Hermione thought her eardrums would burst.

"I'm afraid Madam Pomfrey will be of little help here," said Professor McGonagall. "Someone has practiced an Unforgivable Curse in this school. That calls for quite another matter."

"Should the children be detained?"

"I don't think so, Severus. I think not even the brightest Defense N.E.W.T. students could do Unforgivables. On the contrary, it will be much better if as many children as possible leave Hogwarts for the holidays. Preferably all of them. No students' lives would be in danger in that case while we hunt for the... whoever it was..."

Madam Pomfrey, ushered by Peeves, came running and gasped as she saw the Grey-turned-Green Lady.

"I... I can't..." the nurse stammered, for once at a loss for words. "I've never seen..."

"You're all standing here and doing nothing!" the Bloody Baron barked, springing up. "Take her to the hospital wing at least! She is not an animal at the zoo to be stared at!"

"Y-yes – yes – of course," Madam Pomfrey leaned towards the Lady. Her hands went through the body. "Sorry – she's still non-corporal..."

"Peeves!" the Baron called, cradling the Grey Lady's head in his hands. "Help me!"

Without a word, the poltergeist rushed to obey. Together they lifted the Grey Lady and floated in the direction of the hospital wing. The Baron looked back at Professor McGonagall:

"Can she be..." he hesitated, obviously choosing the word. Revived was indeed hardly suitable. "Can she be – brought – back?"

"I can make no promises," Professor McGonagall said sullenly. "We will inform Professor Dumbledore at once, but I cannot promise you anything."

"Her Ladyship seems heavier than before," Peeves noted. "Almost like a living..."

" _Peeves, shut up, I won't be saying it for the third time._ "

The strange group soon disappeared, Madam Pomfrey running after them. As the last glimmer of green faded, Professor McGonagall seemed to have broken out of a trance and spoke in her ever-present efficient voice:

"Everyone, keep calm. I will alert the Headmaster and the rest of the staff. What Houses are here?"

"Gryffindor," said Hermione, Harry, and several others.

"Ravenclaw."

"Slytherin."

"Good. Any prefects present?"

A curly-haired girl with a blue-and-brown badge stepped forward.

"Miss Clearwater, escort the Ravenclaws to your common room. If you by any chance know where to find Mr. Percy Weasley," Hermione could have sworn a mischievous spark momentarily came to Professor McGonagall's eyes, "tell him to come here and pick up the Gryffindors."

Blushing faintly, Miss Clearwater took out a small photo and whispered something unintelligible. In a few minutes, Percy approached them, trying not to show his confusion.

"Mr. Weasley, there's been an emergency," said Professor McGonagall. "Please lead your House's students to the Gryffindor Tower, then come to the Great Hall. The Headmaster and I will explain everything."

"Slytherins, follow me," Snape ordered.

As the Gryffindor group walked to the common room, Harry told Percy what had happened. Apparently, despite arriving late for the scene, Hermione missed nothing. The Grey Lady had been discovered by Peeves, who went to pieces because of his fear of the Baron, and his screams of panic got the attention of everyone else.

Gathered inside the common room, the Gryffindors tried to figure out what happened, and Hermione felt the almost-forgotten panic coming back tenfold. Now it wasn't just the broom, it was the use of the worst of Unforgivable Curses. You had to be not just some Dark wizard – not some extremely powerful Dark wizard – but a hopelessly and desperately Dark one.

 _The Grey Lady knew something. She must have seen or suspected the truth, whatever it was. So the murderer silenced her..._

"Attention, please!" Professor McGonagall's voice boomed from nowhere. "Due to an unexpected, critically dangerous turn of events, all students are requested to leave Hogwarts for the holidays. Those who for some reason cannot do it, please speak with the Head of their House to make suitable arrangements."

"I wonder why she's been so vague about the turn of events," said Harry.

"Well, can't you see?" Hermione cried. "The Killing Curse used inside the school – d'you think everyone will take it calmly?"

Harry didn't have a chance to reply, as Professor McGonagall in person entered the common room.

"You've heard the announcement?" she asked, then continued without waiting for reply:

"I have the list of the students who wished to stay at Hogwarts for the holidays. Finnigan, Weasley, Weasley, Weasley, Weasley, Potter – right?"

Fred and George pretended to be befuddled.

"Four, she said, right?"

"I think, yes."

"But we're five?"

"Wake up, pal, Ginny's only starting next year!"

"Blimey, I forgot! She has whined about Hogwarts so much I thought she's already here!"

"Weasleys, it's serious!" Professor McGonagall snapped. "Now. Finnigan – is there no way you can make arrangements for yourself to go?"

Seamus Finnigan shook his head:

"Mom and Dad are hiking somewhere in the Alps. They wanted to travel together, and I wanted my first Christmas at Hogwarts to be at Hogwarts, so..."

"Weasleys," McGonagall turned to Percy. "I've owled William Weasley, explaining the situation, he has taken leave and come to the Burrow, so you can go home."

"Thanks," said Ron, brightening. "Can Harry go with us too?"

"He has living relatives..."

"No!" Harry shouted. "My living relatives are already aware I'm staying for Christmas, so they'll just leave me out in the cold. Please – I will behave myself, I promise..."

Professor McGonagall seemed to relent:

"Fine, Potter. I've seen these _living relatives_ once, but it was enough... I believe it would be safer for you to go to the Burrow. Finnigan – the school will pay for you staying at the Leaky Cauldron."

* * *

Hermione slept badly during the night. There was Dark magic on the loose in the castle, and there was no denying it. Now she finally understood that the wizarding world, where she was still a stranger, a newcomer at best, didn't only consist of pretty Glimmering Charms and elegant Switching Spells. There was something much, much worse, and for a split second Hermione wished she had never received the letter from Hogwarts and went to the old, respectable, Muggle school where her mother used to study...

She dreamed of Hogwarts staff shooting Unforgivables – again. In the morning, the mirror informed her:

"Bloodshot eyes and pallid face – what a picture you make, my dear..."

 _What if something... irreparable happens at Hogwarts while I'm away? Only six months have I been in the magical world, and now it's in danger..._

The Heads of Houses accompanied them to Hogsmeade Station to ensure nothing happens.

"It will be all sorted out, Miss Granger," Professor McGonagall said gently as Hermione's trunk was loaded into the train. "Professor Dumbledore and Nicholas Flamel will make sure it will."

 _Nicholas Flamel? Who could he be?_

But Professor McGonagall had already switched her attention to Seamus Finnigan, handing him Galleons to pay for the Leaky Cauldron and instructing him not to wander into the Muggle part of London.

"I've ordered Miss Greengrass, a postgraduate of ours, studying under Moody now, to keep an eye on you."

"I don't want a nanny!" Seamus protested.

"Not a nanny. She just happens to be visiting Diagon Alley at the same time, and she has agreed to watch over you in case of anything. Really, do you think being a wizard allows an eleven-year-old roam around on his own?"

 _Thank goodness I'm going home. In the Muggle world, Dark magic seems so far away that one doesn't actually fear..._

"Miss Granger," Professor Snape's deep voice called. Hermione turned around to see him standing with his usual impassive face, another vial of Calming Concoction in his hand.

"The headmaster doesn't want Muggles to think Hogwarts is a torture chamber."

Hermione felt terribly ashamed as she sipped the Concoction obediently. There was no point in arguing with Snape, telling him that as soon as she reached home, she'd be all right. _Where is my Gryffindor bravery?_

"Had to brew three cauldrons in total," Snape complained to Flitwick. "So many younger students breaking down..."

Oddly that came as a comfort for Hermione – at the very least, she wasn't the only one.

* * *

Seamus Finnigan pushed his trolley onto King's Cross station. His owl Conla hooted nervously – he didn't like going through solid walls.

The boy examined his smaller purse, used for Muggle money, thinking whether he would be able to afford a taxi, when he saw a golden-haired girl of no more than twenty waving at him.

"Seamus Finnigan?" she inquired.

"That's me," he nodded. "Miss Greengrass, aren't you?"

"Right you are. Diana Greengrass at your service. My second cousin Daphne's now a first year at Hogwarts, maybe you know her."

He shook his head.

"So I thought," Miss Greengrass said, her small mouth twisting as if she had swallowed something bitter. "My family's oh so very proud of their pure blood."

Judging by her tone, she didn't exactly share that pride.

"I'm half-blood," he muttered, just to say something as they walked outside.

"Don't worry about me," the girl said to lighten the mood. "I don't mind anything of that blood status rubbish. Although I'm training for an Auror, I have about two dozen Muggle friends, and that's only close friends I mean, none of whom has ever suspected me of being something other than an attache in the US Embassy."

Seamus whistled in surprise. Usually wizards stayed low among Muggles, but apparently it wasn't for Diana Greengrass. She led him to a luxurious bright yellow Mercedes car and got into the driver's seat.

"I keep my cover exceptionally well, they say," she grinned. Seamus's mother (a half-blood herself) had tried to drive, but always ended up looking for magical ways to move the car, but Miss Greengrass looked perfectly in-place with all the Muggle equipment. It was hard to believe she was a pure-blood witch of one of the best-known wizard clans in England.

"That's your car?" asked Seamus.

"Yes," Diana nodded matter-of-factly. "Bought it only last year. Some trouble getting the driver's license, you know – passport, this, that... but I managed."

"Wow," Seamus said. "Excuse me – but how do you know Muggles so well? Draco Malfoy doesn't even know for sure what a helicopter is!"

Diana laughed:

"Ah, the son of good ol' Lucius. No surprise there. But I took a N.E.W.T. in Muggle Studies. It's not like Slytherins can't take the subject... Look," she pointed left, "here's the Leaky Cauldron already! Forgive me, but I'm supposed to accompany you inside to make sure you don't cause mayhem..."

The room for Seamus was prepared, and the innkeeper had had an owl from McGonagall too, as it turned out. He assured Diana Greengrass that while inside the Leaky Cauldron, Seamus will be watched over over by him personally.

"We want no underage magic in here, boy!" he warned him. Seamus shrugged: as if he wanted to get into trouble!

"Do you want a room, Miss Greengrass?" the innkeeper bowed to Diana, who was extremely irritated by it.

"No," she said, "I'm staying at the Russell Square Hotel."

"Pardon, Miss Greengrass?"

"I said I'm staying at the Russell Square Hotel," the girl repeated, clearly meaning "back off and no further questions".

 _She doesn't simply fancy Muggles_ , Seamus thought as he watched the yellow Mercedes drive off at the Muggle side. _I think she has a big grudge against her family. Anyway, she is the first nice Slytherin I've ever met._

In the morning he witnessed the continuation of Diana Greengrass's story. A balding fierce-looking wizard of about forty-five stomped into the Cauldron, and Seamus recognized Titus Greengrass, a Wizengamot member frequently mentioned in the Daily Prophet.

"Have you seen my daughter, Tom?" he demanded of the innkeeper.

"Yes, sir, but she wouldn't stay here."

"Where is she?" Mr. Greengrass snapped.

"She said she'd be staying somewhere at the Russell Square..."

Mr. Greengrass gritted his teeth and looked as if he wanted to strangle the innkeeper.

"Again!" he hissed. " _Again_! I've warned her," his voice trembled for a moment, "her mother has warned her! Well, the next time she decides to come here, tell her she may call herself Greengrass but she's not one of us anymore! We're going to cut her from both our wills, and I will go to Gringotts and make sure she's not allowed to take money from our vault. I am going to tell every single person I meet that we've disinherited and disowned our daughter. Let's see how she'd like it! I have delayed it – Amelia begged me to give the child one more chance – but not anymore."

"Thank you!" Diana's voice rang from the entrance. Seamus realized the whole speech was meant for her.

For a moment, her father looked like he was on the brink of changing his mind.

" _Diana_ – I can – I can still – I was very angry, but if you – your mother cried her eyes out, wishing you were back..."

"Back to treating all with Muggle blood like swine?" Diana whispered. "Back to being engaged to Arnold Umbridge? Mother cried her eyes out for herself, not for me. You two have _no idea_ how _I_ have cried."

Seamus finished eating his boiled eggs and leaned behind the staircase, so that they wouldn't notice him. Tom vanished somewhere too.

"Last night," Diana spoke, tears running down her cheeks, "I checked in the Russell Square Hotel. I sat in the restaurant until dawn – and waited – and waited. _Nobody came._ You've _ruined_ my life, and I want nothing more to do with your pure blood."

Mr. Greengrass turned around, and he hadn't looked back at his daughter again.

Seamus felt horribly awkward. He tiptoed up the staircase, deciding to change his plans about visiting the Magical Menagerie and Fortescue's Parlor today. Diana Greengrass was obviously in no mood for playing bodyguard.

* * *

Four owls knocked on the window of the Grangers' kitchen on Christmas Day, all heavily laden with parcels.

"Hermione!" Mrs. Granger called her daughter. "Come here – you have presents from your school friends!"

Hermione dashed to the kitchen gleefully and looked at the owls. One of them was Harry's Hedwig, the other, an elderly exhausted-looking one, was certainly the Weasleys' Errol, another was the Longbottoms' barn owl, and the fourth one Hermione didn't recognize.

Harry and Ron sent her a long letter about the mischief they worked in the Burrow without Ron's parents to watch over them. Hermione giggled – only give these two a reason not to follow rules! Harry sent her a book called _Year with the Yeti,_ by some Gilderoy Lockhart (a dazzling-looking young man, as she could see from the photograph on the front page), and Ron – a book on Egyptian magic ( _I asked Bill to bring it for you as far back as November, I knew you adore this horrific stuff with charts and calculations_!).

Neville sent her a scarf knitted by his grandmother, and his own watercolor sketch of Professor Sprout's greenhouse number one. The fourth owl turned out to be from Professor McGonagall, who sent her three books on Liquid Transfiguration:

 _If you haven't changed your mind about studying it in the next semester, then_ Switching Liquids _,_ From Liquid to Solid _and_ Changes of Aggregation State, Part 1 _are exactly what you need._

Hermione would have called it her best Christmas ever, if not for Professor McGonagall's postscript:

 _We haven't found it out yet, but no more attacks have occurred. Professor Flitwick says that the Grey Lady's life (let's call it this way) isn't in danger, and we're working on how to restore it._

Now this sent a twinge of worry into her chest. Haven't found it out? Whatever could it mean? Would the headmaster honestly allow classes to continue with a Dark wizard on the loose?

She considered writing back to Professor McGonagall – asking how the search was going on – but in the end decided against it. McGonagall wouldn't call her a meddlesome know-it-all, but the general meaning of her reply would be very much the same. Why should she tell a first-year the details of hunting down Dark magic? Hermione might be her favorite student, but a student after all. With all the openness and kindness of Hogwarts professors (excepting Snape, of course) that would have seemed strange in a Muggle school, students always remembered their place.

Hermione wrote about it all to Harry and Ron (sending along boxes of respectively Chocolate Frogs and Every Flavor Beans), and got a reply in the evening, with Hedwig.

Harry wrote that he has some sort of suspicions on what it all could be, and that he has received a most unusual Christmas present, delivered anonymously.

 _Come to the Burrow, Hermione, for the rest of the holiday – if your parents let you, naturally. It will be lots of fun, and we can discuss the goings-on at Hogwarts._

 _P. S. Would you mind giving us a hand with hometasks? I feel I've messed up Flitwick's essay, not to mention these four feet of parchment Snape wants us to write…_

This time, it was absolutely the contrary thing – the postscript cheered Hermione up a lot.

Mr. and Mrs. Granger were at first reluctant to part with their daughter, after not seeing her since September, but she insisted and pleaded and begged, and finally they gave up. Ron sent Hermione the Burrow's address, she looked it up on the map, and she quickly packed to leave.

"She spends so much time away from home now," Mrs. Granger sighed, watching her daughter's train disappear.

"I can't believe how fast she's growing up," Mr. Granger nodded. "But I'm glad she has made such good friends that she's begged us to let her visit them. This wizarding school… it must truly be _her_ place."

"I was so glad when I read from her letters that it was a serious thing. You know, magic is always associated with dilly-dally, circuses, rabbits out of hats… But the way Hermione studies it, it makes sense."

"And I've looked through her books. They are interesting, Jean, and – well, if one's got the gift, they must be fun to study…"

"Our girl draws interesting books to herself like a magnet," Mrs. Granger laughed. "But it's a good thing, you're right, that she's finally socializing. Eleven years old – never had a playmate, let alone a close friend! And now – in the letters – Harry this, Ron that, Lisa this, Neville that… Yes, Hugh, Mione has indeed found her place at Hogwarts."


	6. The Burrow Holiday

**Thanks to the first reviewer, Kairan1979!**

 **Concerning the wizardry schools mentioned in this chapter: Muspellheim School is invented by me, I imagined it to be located somewhere in Iceland, as Muspellheim is the fire world in Norse mythology. NIIKAVO and NIICHAVO aren't products of my own imagination, these are joint magical institutes from _Monday Begins on Saturday_ by the Strugatsky brothers. NIIKAVO stands for Scientific Research Institute for Cabbalistics and Fortune-telling, and NIICHAVO for Scientific Research Institute for Sorcery and Wizardry (in the latest English translation, as far as I know, it's NITWITT, National Institute for the Technology of Witchcraft and Thaumaturgy).**

The hospital wing was supposed to be empty and quiet – Madam Pomfrey usually had a good rest during the holidays, with only several students at most staying at Hogwarts. This time, however, she had a patient – the most peculiar patient in her career. The Grey Lady, with nothing grey in her now save for the name, was lying like an emerald statue on one of the beds, with all Hogwarts teachers almost from dawn to dusk examining her. To make matters worse, the Bloody Baron never left her side, and his temper was worse than ever. He looked at everyone with grave suspicion, demanded to know exactly what spells and potions they were trying to administer, and at night kept waking the nurse whenever he thought the Grey Lady's symptoms changed. Madam Pomfrey tried once to sleep with Professor Sprout's earmuffs over her ears, but the Baron ordered Peeves to wake her with a bucket of cold water.

"She's getting corporeal, we think," Dumbledore said on the fourth day, gesturing towards the Grey Lady. "Poppy, Severus has made a number of potions for wounds, and it would be wise for you to use your Scar Threads and Tissue Regrower too."

"Why?" the nurse asked, confused.

"She died from being stabbed in her heart," said Professor McGonagall. "If she is indeed getting her body back, there is a risk that she will die not from the curse, but from that wound once more."

That elicited a choked sob from where the Bloody Baron was hovering.

"By the way," Dumbledore told him, "you should talk to her."

"But she doesn't hear anything!"

"That we cannot say. She might. When a person is like this, it is always best to talk with him or her – it keeps the life from flickering out."

From that moment onwards, the last shreds of peace were gone – there was no silence in the hospital wing, as the Bloody Baron untiringly kept speaking.

" _Helena_ , please, don't you die on me again. I have seen it once – so many centuries ago and it still haunts me. If you only stay ali... at least like you've been for these past centuries, I will do anything. I would carry twenty times as many chains as now if it could bring you back. My dearest, it's not only me – the students miss you a lot, even though it's holiday time now. If it wasn't for Poppy Pomfrey, Lisa Turpin would have sent you a get-well card and Cho Chang a box of sweets. They hardly can imagine the Ravenclaw Tower without you, so they say. Please, Helena, wake up! Albus says you're becoming corporeal – so you will be fully _alive_ again, if you only wake up!"

It was a spectacle not to be forgotten – the Slytherin ghost actually lovesick. No one had known before the history of either the Baron's or the Grey Lady's death, but now even Filch knew the truth was uncovered. Obviously, the Grey Lady was killed by the Baron himself in, perhaps, a fit of jealous rage.

It was touching to see him pleading and begging her to stay alive, but after a day or two it was too much a strain for Madam Pomfrey's nerves.

"What else are you going to do?" she demanded the next time she saw the Headmaster.

"Well, she is... physical enough now for the wound to be healed. As for the revival... Professor Sprout has ordered Mandrake seeds. Maybe Mandrakes would help."

"But they have to grow for almost ten months!" cried Madam Pomfrey. "Do you mean I have to deal with it all till autumn? And when the students come... oh, Merlin, it will be worse..."

"In the meanwhile, we all are doing a research on Unforgivable Curses to find out how they work for ghosts," Dumbledore finished. "We haven't found anything yet... but there is still a chance something like this attack has happened before."

True enough, soon after Christmas the Grey Lady was nothing of a ghost anymore. The healing potions that Snape had brought and Madam Pomfrey's Scar Threads made sure her chest wound disappeared completely. What's more, she was gradually losing her sickly green color – the Bloody Baron commented every now and then on how her hair went back to brown or her skin back to rosy or her eyes back to blue. But that was all good that happened. The Grey Lady lay still, as if Petrified – only unlike a Petrified person, she wasn't frozen in her posture. Her hands could be moved, she could be fed (only there was some trouble in making her swallow) – as Professor Quirrell said, she was more like in what Muggles called a coma. Madam Pomfrey had no objections against it, but Quirrell, despite being half-blood with a Muggle mother, only knew the term and had hardly any ideas of how to cure that coma.

"It j-just s-s-sort of – s-sort of – w-w-wears out," he said uncertainly. "Aft-ter a y-y-year or t-two or m-m-more."

"You are a Defense teacher!" the Bloody Baron roared, causing Quirrell to back off abruptly and fall on the opposite bed. "You should know more things on Unforgivables than anyone else!"

"What do you expect, Baron?" asked Snape, who had entered with a new dose of healing mixtures. "This colleague of mine doesn't know the difference between a boggart and a boogeyman."

"Wh... wh..." Quirrell stood up, looking hurt, but Pomona Sprout, also in for her daily visit of the Grey Lady, came to his rescue first.

" _Severus_ , don't bully the poor boy as if he's still at school!" she exclaimed. "It's enough that you torture all the students of my House – how would you like it if _I_ started taking points off Slytherins for nothing?"

Madam Pomfrey decided it was time to remind them who had the authority here.

"Quiet, please!" she said sharply. "You never know. Perhaps it's the noise that disturbs our patient."

Quirrell edged away to the door, throwing frightened glances at Snape.

* * *

The train slowed down at the platform with a small, wooden sign _Ottery St. Catchpole_ above it. Fred and George Weasley, their red heads looking like two bonfires among the heaps of snow, were standing there with their brooms. As soon as they spotted Hermione (the only passenger who got off), they waved at her gleefully, and George set out a large firework. Hermione prided herself on the fact that she had learned to tell them apart by the end of the term.

"Harry and Ron got a cold," Fred said as he helped Hermione lower her trunk. "Both."

"They were far too vigorous during the last degnoming."

"But forgot to put on their coats."

"Degnoming?" Hermione asked.

"Ah, of course! You don't know yet!"

"Wait and see, Hermione, it's a lot of fun!"

"Useless, of course, since all the gnomes come back eventually."

"But then if they didn't, we wouldn't have been able to show them to you."

The train left, and the twins looked around.

"No one," George said, laughing. "C'mon, get on the broom."

"On the _broom_?" Hermione eyed the said article suspiciously.

"Well, why do you reckon we've taken them here?" Fred grinned. "To sweep away the snow? Go on, there's nobody of the Muggles around – I'll take the trunk, George will take you. That's no Shooting Star, these two are good, loyal, quality brooms – Cleansweep Fives."

And before Hermione knew it, she was sitting on the broom in front of George, and they were raising up, cold air whipping her face.

"But isn't it – dangerous?" she squeaked. "To overload the brooms?"

"Oh, we'll manage," Fred said. He wasn't gripping his broom at all, instead both his heads holding the trunk tight.

Though lately things had gone quite well for Hermione during Flying lessons, she still felt uneasy when mounting a broom. Especially mounting a broom with being watched over not by Madam Hooch, but by two worst pranksters to ever walk the earth instead. She shut tight her eyes and didn't open them until her feet softly hit the snowy ground.

"The Burrow – terminal!" the twins yelled in unison.

The Burrow looked like it was a pile of very large boxes, held together by nothing but magic, with several brick chimneys sticking out here and there. From a window downstairs, Harry and Ron were already looking, grinning broadly and showing her half-finished boxes of the sweets she had sent. A tall young man with shoulder-length red hair greeted them on the doorstep ("Our eldest brother Bill, Hermione" – "Pleased to meet you, Mr. Weasley" – "Just Bill for you, Hermione, the boys have told me so much about you"). He took her coat and trunk and ushered her into the living-room, where Harry, Ron, and Percy were seated.

It was a very odd living-room – at least in Hermione's opinion. Empty plates flew to the kitchen where they washed themselves, a clock showed – not time in the strict sense, but things like "You're late" and "Time to feed the chickens". Something was banging upstairs.

"Oh, a ghoul, don't you mind him," Fred said cheerfully as he noticed where Hermione was looking.

"He _is_ annoying, but he's, well, like part of the house by now," said George.

They spent the whole evening together in the living room, playing wizard chess (one of the things Hermione couldn't master), chasing Chocolate Frogs around the room (the twins did that mostly), or just talking. Hermione was very eager to get to know the eldest Weasley – as they discovered, they had very similar tastes in magic.

"So you're doing Transfiguration?" he said. "Great subject. I'd recommend Arithmancy, too – it was my favorite at school, and a N.E.W.T. in it was required for my job."

"What is your job like exactly?"

"Curse-Breaker for Gringotts – mostly the Egyptian department. I've always wanted something like this. Something with numbers and with difficult spells," Bill smiled. He proceeded to describe it in detail as Hermione asked him, and then they discussed the book on Egyptian magic Ron had given her, but after a while she couldn't help but feel he was condescending towards her. She would have understood such attitude from a teacher, but a young man only several years past Hogwarts who had just asked her to call him by name? After a time, Hermione realized that he wasn't taking her conversation too seriously – more like, he was amused by her interest in Transfiguration like one would be amused by a five-year-old child repeating phrases he heard in adults' speech. So after a while, Hermione retreated to the twins, Harry, and Ron, and they had several other rounds in chess, taking turns. Finally, Fred and George hurried of to that mysterious "degnoming", Bill went upstairs to write some business letters, and Hermione finally had the chance to ask Harry about his most unusual Christmas present.

"Oh, that! Look!" Harry showed her a greyish-blue sort of cloak. Hermione looked at it:

"What's – what's unusual about it? Apart from the anonymous sender?"

Instead of answering, Harry wrapped himself in the cloak – and vanished.

"The Invisibility Cloak," Ron explained in a dazed voice. "Very, very rare."

"Harry?" Hermione called uncertainly. "Are you sure it is safe?"

"What?" Harry appeared again, holding the cloak in his hands.

"Did it have any – well, note attached to it?"

"Yes," he nodded. "It said it belonged to my father."

"Any signature?"

"N-no."

Hermione examined the clock worriedly:

"Then, Harry, don't you realize it might be _dangerous_?"

"Dangerous?" the boys repeated in unison.

"Harry, Ron, don't you see? Dark magic is on the loose in Hogwarts. You were to stay there, but Professor McGonagall ordered your evacuation at the last moment," Hermione groaned, seeing their dumbfounded expressions. "Someone tried to jinx your broom, Harry, and failed. Then the Grey Lady found something out, he silenced her. And then he (or she) thinks: hang on, Harry Potter must be at his best friend's house. Why not send him another Dark-magicked thing that has a hex hidden in it – and disguise it as a Christmas present?"

"Hermione," said Ron. "I do think you've read too much on Dark magic."

"I've read Agatha Christie, that's enough."

Ron blinked – she remembered he didn't know who Agatha Christie was. Harry understood, though, but still looked doubtful.

"The note said it belonged to my father," he repeated.

"Where's the proof?" Hermione cried. "You don't know what belonged to your father and what didn't. What if it hides a jinx that will slowly kill you?"

"You don't know what it's like," Harry whispered in a strange, trembling voice. "Both your parents are alive, but I haven't got even the smallest reminder of mine. The Dursleys – they despised them and kept no photos, no tokens, nothing..."

 _That's what the Dark wizard is playing at, Harry! Your weakness! You'll be suspicious at receiving an Invisibility Cloak, but when a note's attached to it about your father – you melt at once._

She didn't speak it aloud, however. Instead, she told the boys of Professor McGonagall's last words – that Professor Dumbledore and Nicholas Flamel would take care of everything.

"What's so strange about it?"

"Nothing," shrugged Hermione. "I just wanted to know – who's that Flamel."

"Oh, of course," Ron laughed. "It's a danger to speak of unknown names around you – you'll immediately want to find it all out."

"But that's easy," said Harry and showed her one of his Chocolate Frog cards, with Dumbledore's photo smiling in the center:

"See? Famous among other things for _his work on alchemy with his partner, Nicholas Flamel_."

"Alchemy?" Hermione frowned. "Wait a moment... I fancy now I've heard the name or read it somewhere... in _A Guide to Alchemy_..."

"You could just ask Bill," said Ron. "He took Alchemy in his sixth year."

"Alchemy is a subject at Hogwarts too?"

"Yes, but not always – there have to be at least ten students who want to study it, and then the Ministry sends a teacher. Come on, Hermione, put it off until tomorrow! Bill's busy with his Gringotts letters."

"Fine, but – Harry," she said. "Please, don't wear this cloak. At least until this Dark magic affair is dealt with."

Harry rolled his eyes. The two of them were getting tired of her suspicions, that was clear.

"Really, Hermione," said Fred, who came inside just at time to hear the last words. "If you keep it up, you'll be another Mad-Eye."

"Another who?"

"Mad-Eye Moody – Alastor Moody – a schizophrenic Auror, who sees Death Eaters everywhere and in everyone."

"Mad-Eye Granger," said George, wiping his muddy hands on his coat. "Doesn't sound as good as Mad-Eye Moody. Take my advice – drop it all, Hermione."

"You should meet Moody someday to see what we mean. Dad says the guy's completely nuts. _If it looks like a duck, swims like a duck, and quacks like a duck... don't believe it, it's a Death Eater all the same_!" both the twins burst into laughter. Hermione sighed deeply. Oh, it would have been a lot easier if back then at the match it had been Snape. To have your suspicions fixed and proved is one thing, to suspect everyone is quite another. No wonder she sounded paranoid.

She asked Bill about Nicholas Flamel first thing in the morning.

"Flamel?" Bill repeated. "Oh, he's the only known maker of the Philosopher's Stone."

"That's it!" Hermione exclaimed, and Bill looked surprised:

"What's _it_?"

But Hermione already ran to the living room, excited with her discovery.

"Harry – Ron – come here quickly. Listen, let's put the pieces together. Harry, you told me that the second vault at Gringotts contained a small package. Hagrid took it and, obviously, brought it to Hogwarts..."

"Then it must be the Philosopher's Stone," said Harry, starting to comprehend. "It's hidden in the third-floor corridor, with the cerberus and someone's trying to break into it and get the Stone. Only – I'm sorry, Hermione, I'm quite ignorant when it comes to magical things as of yet – what does this Stone do? You speak like it's something important."

"Something important! I've read that (among other things) it provides you with Elixir of Life – which means you can never die! No wonder someone's attempting to get it!"

"That's cool," said Ron. "So, who is it?"

"It couldn't be Dumbledore," said Harry. "If he is a friend of this Flamel, he could have just asked for a part of the Stone."

"Dumbledore wasn't at that Quidditch match – don't you recall? We can only count these who were there."

"Well, how are going to figure it? Anyone would want a Philosopher's Stone," Ron pointed out.

"I think I can imagine. I've already thought on it," Harry said. "It can't be someone close to Dumbledore – you know, if McGonagall or Flitwick wanted to get it, they could have tracked it down ages ago!"

"So? This leaves almost a dozen teachers, and we don't know how friendly is each of them with Dumbledore," said Ron.

Hermione smiled:

"I see you still haven't read _Hogwarts: A History_. The last revised edition was published only this June. It contains the main facts about every professor employed there at present. We can find it all out. Thankfully I have my copy with me."

She went to get it (she occupied the room usually belonging to Ginny Weasley). Soon, they all gathered around the book, where the currently employed teachers were listed alphabetically. There wasn't much written about them, mostly data on their education, awards, and previous employments, but still, better than nothing, such as:

 _Bathsheda Babbling. Pure-blood. Teaches Ancient Runes. Hogwarts O.W.L. student (1945-1950). N.E.W.T.s (1950-1952) taken in Ancient Runes, Arithmancy, Muggle Studies, and Transfiguration. Honorary member of the European Runology Association, Sturluson Prize laureate (1983), Chairwoman of Society for Neorunic Magic. Also gives lectures in Ancient Runes, History of Scaldic Wizardry and Alphabetical Magic at Durmstrang Institute, Muspellheim School, NIIKAVO, and NIICHAVO._

All the teachers seemed to be highly respectable, teaching at Hogwarts for a long time. The book was a bit vague about Severus Snape's doings between his receiving of N.E.W.T. grades (Alchemy, Arithmancy, Charms, Defense Against the Dark Arts, Herbology, Potions, 1978) and the start of his work as a teacher at Hogwarts (1982), but since Snape was already cleared (to their secret dismay), it didn't give much help.

"Here!" Hermione pointed. "That looks interesting!"

 _Quirinus Quirrell. Half-blood. Teaches Defense Against the Dark Arts. Hogwarts O.W.L. student (1969-1974). N.E.W.T.s (1974-1976) taken in Charms, Defense Against the Dark Arts, and Muggle Studies. Did a research on Muggle life in Indonesia from 1976 to 1982, published articles and a book_ Tradition and Progress in Muggle Society _. Muggle Studies teacher (1982-1990), taken a sabbatical in 1990-1991 school year._

"Why did he switch to Defense Against the Dark Arts?" wondered Harry. "There are rumors that the job is jinxed!"

"That's the question!" Hermione nodded. "Look – until last year he's definitely all for Muggle Studies. He takes a N.E.W.T. in them, he researches Muggle life, then teaches Muggle Studies – and then, after a sabbatical, all of a sudden, he changes his mind. Why? If he did have an unfortunate encounter with a vampire in Albania..."

"The Black Forest," Harry said.

"Transylvania, they told me," Ron said.

"Well! No one even knows for sure where the vampire was! So – anyway, if he had it, he would have been so afraid of the Dark Arts that he wouldn't have wanted to teach Defense! I mean, he already had a stable job as Muggle Studies professor!"

"And the Grey Lady used to be Quirrell's assistant," Ron supplied. "She was all right before she began helping him."

"He must have started to indulge in Dark Arts," Hermione shuddered. "Th-then he probably went to the former supporters of You-Know-Who. They must have given him a counterjinx to repel You-Know-Who's curse."

"What do we do, then?" asked Harry. "Expose him?"

"We have no proof," Hermione shook her head. "Dumbledore appointed him, after all... And we don't know anything for sure. It _might_ have been not him."

"Who, then? McGonagall? Flitwick? Sprout?"

"I have no idea... Quirrell _does_ look suspicious, to think of it now."

"We need to get to Hogwarts," Harry said firmly.

"Harry Potter, are you completely _mad_? McGonagall ordered us all out so that we'd be safe!"

"We need to get there. Find the Stone before Quirrell does and give it to Dumbledore!"

"Harry. James. Potter. You _are_ crazy. Dumbledore will figure it out!"

"Well, he hasn't figured it out since September!" said Ron. "What if he only does so when it's too late? He trusts Quirrell."

"Are you going to just go and take the Stone made by Nicholas Flamel? Do you think it's just lying there, only waiting for a first-year student to come and get it?"

"It's not just lying there," Harry reminded her. "The cerberus guards it."

"Even better! Are you going to let yourself be eaten?"

"Why – there must be _some_ way to get around it," said Harry.

"If you are a superhero named Hercules, then certainly," said Hermione. "If not, I pity you."

"I have my Invisibility Cloak!"

"That can explode or turn you into a lizard at any moment? What if it was _Quirrell_ who sent it?"

"I've already tried it on several times – it is fine!"

"It is," Ron nodded. "Hermione, Invisibility Cloaks are _really_ rare. I doubt Quirrell could find one just to kill Harry – he could have more easily sent him a jinx inside a Chocolate Frog! I agree with Harry. _We_ should go to Hogwarts and retrieve the Stone."

"You are _both_ mad," Hermione sighed.

* * *

"Bill, Hermione's parents have invited us to stay with them for the last days of the holidays," Ron said lightly. "I think we'll go."

Bill eyed them doubtfully:

"Ron, are you _sure_ it's safe to let you into a Muggle house?"

"Of course it is! Hermione will watch over us! And Harry knows all about Muggles too, I won't get lost or anything!"

"It's not you I worry about. It's the Muggles."

"They're fine with it," Hermione said stiffly. After a lot of persuasion, she gave in, but still disapproved of the boys' idea.

"As long as Ron behaves himself," said Bill. "I hope you're not taking the twins too?"

"No – and it's not like they want," Ron answered truthfully. "They want to practice Quidditch."

"Don't you need it too, Harry?"

"I've got a cold," Harry said. "I can't fly in the frosty air in any case."

Bill frowned and thought for a long while. For some time Hermione believed he wouldn't agree, and, truth be told, she would have been relieved. But finally, the eldest Weasley smiled and said:

"Alright. If you, Hermione, can promise that these two delinquents will be on Hogwarts Express by the end of the holidays, sharp on time, then I have no objections."

"They will get back to Hogwarts, you can be sure of that," Hermione said gloomily, hoping he wouldn't catch the real meaning behind these words.

At the twins' insistence, they flew to the station again – Fred, George, and Ron carrying trunks, and Harry and Hermione on the Nimbus.

"As good and faithful as our brooms are," Fred explained, gesturing at the two Cleansweeps and Ron's Shooting Star, "the Nimbus can carry larger weights than any of them, and if something falls on the ground, it'll better be a trunk and not Hermione."

She knew he was joking, but felt a lump in her throat at the mention of falls. However, the flight back to the station went as smoothly as the one before. Nimbus Two Thousand was much faster than the Cleansweeps, and didn't shake when overloaded like they did. Hermione even dared to open her eyes in midair, watching the snowy trees beneath them and the small platform gradually getting nearer.

"Ottery St. Catchpole station!" the twins announced together. "Change here to the Muggle trains!"

As they stood in the starting blizzard, Hermione wanted nothing than to return back to the cheerful Burrow and sit in front of the fire with some good book and a box of Chocolate Frogs. She almost blurted out their conspiracy to Fred and George, when the train finally arrived.

"Bye, Ronniekins! Behave yourself and don't forget to drink milk!"

"Bye, Fred, George! See you at the Quidditch practice!"

"Good luck, Harry! Give our baby brother a lesson in Muggle Studies!"

"Goodbye, Hermione! Visit us again!"

The twins stood and waved to them as the train went away, until their red heads vanished in the snow.

"I was a fool to ever agree with your plan. I wish so much we have stayed at the Burrow," Hermione said miserably.

"Why, Hermione!" Ron winked. "Do you now _fancy_ of one of my wild brothers?"

"Don't be silly," she felt her cheeks grow warm. "How can I _fancy_ either if I have only recently learned to tell them apart?"

 _Of course, if a girl likes to spend time in a boy's company, they immediately think her in love! Why doesn't Ron get the idea that I fancy him or Harry? Just because Fred and George met me at the station and because they're kind and funny, it doesn't mean!.. It's settled – boys are complete idiots, it's in their very nature._

The train, so dull in comparison with the colorful Hogwarts Express, was carrying them to London.


	7. Diana Greengrass

When there was no Hogwarts Express, surrounded by crowds of children and parents, platform nine and three-quarters looked very strange. They sat on a bench with their trunks, staring at the railroad.

"So?" Hermione asked. "How exactly are we going to get to Hogwarts? There are three of us, three trunks, and only one broom to carry it all. Besides, this is going to take many hours. And if we walk on foot – _days_. We could have just as well stayed at your house and waited till the end of the holidays."

"Oh – well – eh," Ron began. "I should have taken my Shooting Star with me. I wouldn't have used it at school..." then he cut off, glancing at Harry's Nimbus. He probably realized that a Shooting Star would have had no chance keeping up with it.

The sky darkened slowly but steadily. It was cloudy, and without the stars and the moon the platform began to look really creepy. The soup, the ragout and the Chocolate Frogs at the Burrow were a long time ago, and even Hermione felt her stomach growl.

"Maybe we should go into the Muggle world and find a cafe?" Ron suggested. "I have some money."

"You two have Sickles and Knuts," Hermione said. "I have some Muggle money, enough, I think, for a supper in a not very expensive cafe – but what should we do next? We can come to my house, of course, Mom and Dad will be happy – but they surely won't let us go to Hogwarts before the holidays' end."

"It's dark," Harry complained. "We must decide what to do."

Suddenly, they heard a rustling sound coming from below. With a start, all three snatched their wands and pointed to where the sound's source approximately was. A _Lumos_ whispered in unison – and the wands lit up with shining silvery blue light, only to reveal... Ron's rat.

"Scabbers!" Ron cringed and grabbed the runaway. "What are you doing, sneaking around on your own?"

"We have broken the restriction on Underage Magic," Hermione whispered anxiously. "Now the Ministry will get us, and at best watch us closely until the start of the term."

"Well, since we've already done it, there's no point in turning off the light," said Harry. "It's much better than sitting in the night like this. Look how bright and merry everything looks!"

Hermione, ready to curse herself for breaking the main rule and thinking on what Professor McGonagall would say, turned around and said:

"Just for you to know, it's not only because of our wands."

Indeed, a large shiny silvery-blue badger burst out of the wall, leaving a trail of light behind it. It ran happily to the trio, and was soon followed by a blond-haired witch in a thick coat. _There it comes_ , thought Hermione unhappily. Now she knew she was mad ever to agree to this adventure. Not only were they on the platform where they had no business to be without the Hogwarts Express, but they also used the charm. All three of them. _Professor McGonagall will be furious! What if she cancels my Liquid Transfiguration lessons she has promised? I've been looking forward to them since September, and now – because of Harry, Ron, and Ron's stupid rat..._

"Well?" the stranger asked. "Breaking the Decree on Underage Magic, aren't we? You're lucky I got to you first."

"It was the rat," Ron said. "My pet rat. It scared us."

"Very nice. Then, what were you doing here?"

"Just went to see what it looks like – without the train," said Harry. "We told Ron's brothers we are going to visit Hermione's parents, but we went here instead."

The young woman tsk'ed at that:

"Alright, in that case, let's go. I will take you to the Leaky Cauldron. You must be Harry Potter, Hermione Granger, and Ronald Weasley – am I right?"

"How did you guess?" Ron gave her a suspicious look.

"No one can confuse Harry Potter with anyone else," she smiled. "You are red-haired enough for me to recognize you as the youngest Weasley – I don't remember you from my school times at Hogwarts, but I've seen all your brothers – I only had N.E.W.T.s the year before last."

That lifted some weight from Hermione's heart. A witch who had recently been a student herself wouldn't punish them too harshly.

"And Hermione's not a very common name," their new acquaintance continued. "I thought you, girl, must be the Hermione Granger Professor McGonagall has praised so much."

At these words, it dawned on Hermione:

"You must be – are you Diana Greengrass Professor McGonagall spoke to Seamus about?"

"Right," Diana nodded cheerfully. "Don't worry, I won't complain to her. If you don't used any more magic, that is. I may be a future Auror and a postgraduate at the Ministry, but I was quite the rule-breaker myself at Hogwarts."

Diana's badger faded into thin air, as they walked from the platform back onto the Muggle station. Harry stared at the place where the animal had been:

"Sorry – Miss Greengrass – your pet..."

"It's not a pet," Diana chuckled as she led them to her Mercedes. "It's a Patronus, something created by a very powerful charm and used to repel dangerous Dark spells and creatures. Or – in some cases – lead you in the simple dark when you're searching, for example, for a bunch of troublemakers. It disappears when you have no further need of it."

"Why does it take the form of a badger?" Hermione asked with piqued interest. "Is it because you were a Hufflepuff?"

This question, she guessed, hit a tender spot. Diana's warm smile disappeared, her mouth thinned, and on the whole she wore the same stern expression as Professor McGonagall when angry.

"I was in Slytherin, Miss Granger, and please refrain from personal questions."

In silence they drove further, until the car slowed down in front of the Leaky Cauldron. Seamus Finnigan was sitting inside, having tea with Every Flavor Beans.

"Oh, hi!" he said. "So you are here too?"

"It appears that your friends decided to explore London by themselves," said Diana. "Fortunately I caught up with them before the rest of the Ministry did. Tom! Three rooms for Mr. Potter, Mr. Weasley, and Miss Granger!"

Their trunks were moved into the new rooms, while Diana ordered a good meal for all of them – Ron let it slip that they were very hungry.

"So, would you like to stay here or are you going to Miss Granger's parents?" Diana wanted to know.

"I think we'll stay in the Cauldron," Hermione said. "Mom and Dad don't know that we're here, I told them I was going to be with the Weasleys for the rest of the holidays."

"I see, you don't want to ruin your good-girl reputation," the woman winked. "They won't be too pleased to learn you've been sneaking around magic London on your own. Fine, you stay, and I will personally make sure you won't use your wands until back at Hogwarts."

Hermione sighed with relief.

"What? Oh, you only used _Lumos_ , and without any Muggles around, it's nothing dangerous. For the first time, the Ministry always issues an official warning, nothing more. I've signalled my elders that I have warned you, so it's all settled. I'll tell Professor McGonagall you decided to visit Mr. Finnigan – you're in the same House, right?"

"When it comes to Ron and me, in the same dorm," Harry nodded.

"Okay. Now, enjoy your supper, I am going. There's still quite a drive to my hotel."

As Diana left, Hermione said in surprise:

"She's not staying herself? But the Leaky Cauldron is the cheapest and most comfortable accommodation around."

"She's a Greengrass, they have loads of money," Ron said bitterly. "She can allow herself to stay at the Sword of Camelot or at the Dragon's Tail."

"No, it's not that," said Seamus. "I saw her being disowned by her family the other day, and she's staying at a Muggle hotel."

Harry and Hermione took the fact calmly – what did it matter for them where the Auror in training stayed? – but Ron, with his knowledge of some of the pure-bloods, was astonished:

"You don't say! A Slytherin! A pure-blood! At a Muggle hotel! Disowned! That sounds like one of the novels Mom likes to read."

"Yeah, I myself was shocked when I witnessed it all. But well – there's bound to be at least one good Slytherin, or the whole House would've been closed long ago."

Ron had no choice but to agree.

* * *

The classroom of Defense Against the Dark Arts was empty, save for Quirinus Quirrell himself, who was sitting at his desk unhappily, clutching his bowed head in his hands, as if he had a violent attack of headache. The reality, however, was much worse.

 **Get to the Stone... Get to the Stone... Let that oaf tell you how to get past the cerberus...**

"I can't!" he groaned. "I can't! I'm too weak!"

 **You know how to deal with the plant?**

"Sprout wasn't our Head for nothing!"

 **You will manage the troll yourself, of course... The keys? Can you catch one? Do you fly?**

"I... I was a reserve Beater in my fourth year..."

 **The chessmen you can beat... With the potions, I will help you... What's the trouble?..**

"It w-w-was Christmas D-D-Day n-not l-long ago," Quirrell stuttered like he did in class.

 **So what? You wanted me to bake you a pudding?..**

"I didn't want to stay at Hogwarts."

 **Even if that idiot ghost wasn't so nosy and didn't get herself in trouble... you have to keep an eye on the Stone...**

"But I always... I always..."

 **Three times it had been, judging by what you told me – and you say "always"?.. Besides, you missed the one last year...**

Quirrell replied nothing to this, just let out a heavy, tired sigh. The creature speaking with him seemed to have a bit of mercy – or just needed to keep him from getting cold feet.

 **When I revive myself and take the power...**

"It will be soon," Quirrell said dutifully.

 **You know as well as I do that I will spare all pure-bloods... regardless of their allegiance... and you can have your woman... If you remain my faithful servant... no one will dare to accuse you of half-blood status again...**

The voice grew silent. Quirrell put on his turban back and made himself a glass of cold water. _I had promised her_ , he thought miserably. _When I was forced to leave, I promised her that I'd come again this Christmas, to our usual meeting place_. He was sure that his master would spare her anyway as she was a pure-blood with faultless heredity, and that he'd be allowed to have her (if he didn't let his master down) – but would she want it? She was headstrong enough to defy her family, one of the most influential clans in wizarding England, why wouldn't she defy his master's orders too if she felt like it? _She will understand_ , he told himself. _She said she loves me no matter what_.

 **Shut up...**

The Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher almost dropped the glass.

"Master?.."

 **I have no interest in your weak wails... You'd better think about the Stone...**

Quirrell shivered and gulped down the rest of the water. It hardly helped. If Snape hadn't been so suspicious of him, he'd have gone to him and asked for some potion for the nerves. _I'm not in control even of my own thoughts anymore... I am so very, very weak, unworthy of serving the master._

 **If you don't make yourself useful, Quirinus Quirrell, I might change my mind... Half-bloods are indeed much, much below the pure-blood ones... I might even think again about sparing you after getting a new body...**

"No!" Quirrell yelled, frightened. _Focus, focus. The Stone, the Stone. The Philosopher's Stone. Focus._

The door opened, and Pomona Sprout looked inside:

"Everything all right, Quirinus?"

"Y-y-yes, Pr-professor S-Sprout," he hastily assured her. "I j-j-just ac-c-cidentally sp-spilled th-the w-w-water on m-my r-r-robes."

"Oh," Pomona smiled. "I thought I heard you yelling as if someone's trying to jinx you."

"N-n-no, it's all f-f-fine h-h-here..."

After looking at him doubtfully again, she closed the door. Quirrell sank into the chair, biting his lip to stop groaning with pain.

 **The boy... Watch out... If an opportunity presents itself once more...**

"I almost threw him off that time!" Quirrell whispered. "If it wasn't for Snape's countercurse and the girl who stumbled over me..."

 **That girl has more brains than you... you should have arranged Severus's absence somehow...**

Quirrell physically had to grimace to prevent himself from thinking about his master in a way that wouldn't be tolerated. It was all very easy for him, hiding inside the turban and giving orders! He didn't have that awful Severus Snape trying to use Legilimency on him! He didn't have to watch over a ghost who had a different reaction to the Killing Curse that living beings! _He didn't have to worry about_ her _..._

 **One more thought of her, you fool, and you are dead.**

"Yes, master," Quirrell said hurriedly.

* * *

"We can say goodbye to the plan," Harry said as soon as they gathered in his room, out of Seamus Finnigan's earshot. "This Miss Greengrass will watch us."

"And another use of underage magic will get us expelled," Hermione said firmly. Ron snickered:

"You sound like it's worse than Dark magic."

Hermione blushed, but sensed that it was quite true. She was afraid of Dark magic – _very_ afraid of Dark magic – but subconsciously she believed that it could be dealt with. Eventually. But getting expelled? That was something from her worst nightmares, something that would end her life.

"I'll try to think about it – maybe we'll figure out another way," Harry said hesitantly.

But in the morning, they still had no ideas. Seamus slept late, and only the three of them gathered for breakfast.

"If they caught him, it would be announced," Hermione said. "Professor McGonagall will of course tell us when the school is safe..."

"That's the worst!" Harry smashed his fist on the table. "We're sitting here and doing nothing, and meanwhile Quirrell will shoot Unforgivables at the whole of Hogwarts..."

"What did you say?" another voice intruded, and Diana Greengrass came inside, taking off her coat.

"Erm," Harry tried to look as if they were discussing Chocolate Frog cards, but their guilty looks couldn't deceive an Auror – even a future Auror.

"You were talking nonsense, as I recall," Diana said as she joined them at their table. "Something about Professor Quirrell shooting Unforgivables."

All of a sudden, an idea came to Hermione. Why not confess everything to Miss Greengrass? She's young enough to take them seriously, but experienced enough to be able to help. Feeling a surge of bravery, she blurted out the whole story – the Gringotts break-in, the Quidditch match, the Grey Lady being cursed, and their suspicions. Diana listened quietly, but went very white:

"There – there must be some mistake," she said. "Quiri... Professor Quirrell is _not_ a Dark wizard. It can't be."

"Who else, then?" Harry cried. "You have been at Hogwarts for seven years – you must have some opinion! Snape?"

" _Professor_ Snape," she corrected him, some color returning to her cheeks. "If I may remind you, I was in his House, and he's absolutely wonderful to us. And no, you're wrong, the Slytherins don't secretly practice Dark spells in the dungeons. As for your question, Mr. Potter, there is no teacher at Hogwarts I can accuse of such a crime."

"It must be Professor Quirrell," Harry pressed on. "He behaves odd. Stutters all the time. L-l-like th-th-this."

"Are you sure?" Diana whispered. "What – what is – why is he teaching Defense then?"

"That's what interests us! He says he had an unpleasant encounter with vampires somewhere, and now he stammers and is paranoid."

"It doesn't sound like him – doesn't sound like him at all," the young Auror murmured, more to herself than to the children. "I must go to Hogwarts. Immediately."

"You will?" Hermione exclaimed gratefully.

"Of – of course," Diana swallowed. "I will tell Mr. Moody that I need – to – go away – and he'll assign someone else to watch over you. I will Apparate to Hogsmeade in the evening. It – I – I can – I hope I can find out what Quirinus is up to."

She stood up abruptly and stormed out.

"She went almost as nervous as Quirrell himself," Ron said disapprovingly. "Who's to say she's good for the job?"

"She is training as an Auror, Ron, which means she's certainly better than either of us. By the way," Hermione said. "Have you noticed? She called Professor Quirrell by name. She must know him."

"Of course she knows him!" said Harry. "She must have studied under him – she is obviously an expert on Muggle life, with her car and clothing, and he was teaching Muggle Studies when she was at Hogwarts."

"Do we speak of our professors as of 'Minerva' or 'Severus' or 'Pomona'?" Hermione chuckled. "No, no, she must know him better than as a student."

But Harry wasn't listening. He was lost in thoughts about something else.

"Harry?"

"That's our chance!" he cried. "Miss Greengrass has left to tell that Moody of theirs about her going away. It is bound to take some time – he'll have to listen to her, grant her leave, then find someone to replace her as our guard... We have an hour, I think, if not more, to sneak away to Hogwarts ourselves!"

"Now, I am taking no further part in this foolishness!" Hermione snapped. "Thanks to your ideas, I have received a warning from the Ministry. If you want to be expelled, go ahead, sneak away to Gringotts for all I care."

"But Hermione! That Philosopher's Stone..."

"...will be retrieved by Miss Greengrass or some other experienced wizard."

She couldn't believe the boys wanted to proceed with their madness. How could they? _I'll look at you two when you get thrown out of the school!_

Their argument had to be put off at the moment, though, as Seamus came down the stairway, yawning:

"Morning! Want a game of Exploding Snap?"

* * *

"Why do you need a day off, Miss Greengrass?" Mad-Eye Moody barked, both his normal and his magical eye staring at his student. "You can't waste time if you truly want your training!"

"I need to see my Muggle friends."

 _Calm, relaxed, looking straight into the eye._ But the senior Auror wasn't deceived by the tricks he taught her himself.

"Do you want me to use Veritaserum?"

 _He won't, he won't,_ she tried to convince herself. _Veritaserum is too precious, and it takes very long to brew it. They need it for criminals._

"I gave you a day off at Christmas at your request, and even then, if not for Professor McGonagall, I would have hesitated," he said. "Do you think you have your holidays like at school? Do you maybe think criminals have holidays too? How many times do I have to remind you about CONSTANT VIGILANCE?!"

"Thank you, sir, I remember all about it. But it's urgent."

 _Does he have secret skills in Legilimency? I hope he doesn't. Anyway, I should prepare myself..._ Diana's Defense teacher in her seventh year told them a little about Legilimency and Occlumency, and at her insistence Professor Snape gave her several practical lessons. She was in no way a skilled Occlumens, but better than nothing, at least.

"Something to do with Hogwarts, right?"

"Y-you know?" she whispered.

"Do you think Dumbledore didn't inform me of the situation? The moment it worsens, I will despatch Aurors."

"But it's already terrible!"

"Miss Greengrass, Hogwarts professors are more skilled than you are. Believe me, had I an endless supply of newbies, I would have sent you, if you so insist – nothing is better than practice. But there are too few of you, and I can't risk green youths dying from Unforgivables."

"Sir..."

"That's my last word!" he banged his walking stick on the desk. "Miss Greengrass, a proper task for you. Anterhurst, Evesham, suspected werewolves. Go!"

"Mr. Moody..."

 _"Anterhurst, Evesham_! At once! You'll be accompanying a group from our Third Class Emergency Department!"

"But yet..."

"And if you aren't CONSTANTLY ON YOUR GUARD, don't blame me if you start to howl at the moon!" with a pop, Alastor Moody Disapparated, leaving a confused and crestfallen Diana Greengrass.

 _No, I can't leave like that. I need to know what's the matter._

She rushed home – Christmas was past, so she checked out of the hotel early in the morning – and hastily wrote a letter, which she addressed to _Prof. Quirrell, Hogwarts._ Her eagle-owl Elfric looked at her knowingly.

"Come on, Elfric," she said. "You know Quirinus well, you'll find him."

The owl hooted affectionately.

"Return here, and only here. I'm now disowned anyway, so Greengrass House is no longer your home."

She was sure there was a guilty look in his golden eyes. _Owls do understand us better than we give them credit for_ , Diana mused, watching Elfric float out of the window with the letter attached to his leg. If Elfric felt guilty, it was for a good reason – it was his mistake that led to them being discovered. He brought a letter from Quirinus to Greengrass House and was careless enough to enter through the living room window. Seeing the Hogwarts sigil on the envelope, Titus Greengrass thought it was some official business that needed a parent's attention – and opened it.

The following scenes were something Diana would have loved to forget. _If I ever get myself locked up in Azkaban, I know what I will be forced to think of._ Her father forced her to swallow Veritaserum, she tried to bite off her tongue, but knew better all the time – this truth potion couldn't be fought. Mother had a hysterical breakdown, and Father flew to Hogwarts at once, taking Diana with him. Before her eyes he tried to kill Quirinus, only stopped by a timely _Expelliarmus_ from Snape. Professor Dumbledore came to help, and he managed to save Quirinus from death or imprisonment in Azkaban. Technically, the worst _he_ got was a forced sabbatical, "to let the rumor die down", as Dumbledore said.

But Dumbledore's influence didn't spread to the Greengrass family.

"You are – never – to – see – this – Mudblood – again," Titus Greengrass hissed that evening. "This – year – we – will – oversee – your – training."

"And then you'll be married to Arnold," said Amelia Greengrass in what she believed to be a soothing tone.

During that year, Diana's only consolation was Quirinus's last promise to come back after the sabbatical and meet her on Christmas Day of 1991, at the Russell Square Hotel. She had a nice time, however, ruining her wedding day – Arnold Umbridge made _such_ a good toad, very much like his awful aunt Dolores. _Professor McGonagall should have given me O instead of E for my Transfiguration N.E.W.T._

Alastor Moody, whatever his faults were, was impressed and refused to stop Diana's training.

"You are Titus Greengrass, huh?" he asked. "Tell me, then! How many criminals did you catch with your bare hands?" and he demonstrated his own hands in such a way that one could think he wanted to strangle Mr. Greengrass. That's how Diana still stayed under Moody's tutelage.

"Serves young Arnold right," he commented. "That's what happens when you don't have CONSTANT VIGILANCE!"

The months passed quickly, until Christmas arrived. And went. No one but Diana herself came to the Russell Square Hotel. _He must have found himself another_ , she thought bitterly. _Someone whose parents aren't obsessed with these medieval traditions. Someone cleverer..._

But then there were these first years, telling her how Quirinus has changed. _Oh no, maybe it's far worse. What if he had been influenced by Dark magic? What if – he's under the Imperius Curse?_

At the thought, Diana regretted her rashness in sending the letter. So much for Moody's CONSTANT VIGILANCE... With the Aurors she was assigned to work with, she Apparated to Evesham, still hoping that Dumbledore will find out whatever's going at his dear school and whatever has happened to _her_ dear Quirinus.

Moody came to see their group off at the last moment, to inform her that Tonks will take her place in watching over the Hogwarts students. _At least I needn't worry about that. There are nice children, but in my present state I have no mood to deal with them. Especially that Miss Granger, with her questions. How quickly she figured that my Patronus was the badger of Hufflepuff! Merlin's beard, thankfully she doesn't and won't ever know everything necessary to come close to the truth. Not that I have to worry – after my little joke involving Arnold, there is a definite enough opinion of me in the wizarding world. But I don't want anyone to get the wrong idea of Quirinus._


	8. Flasks of Memories

"This is absurd," Hermione moaned, as Harry and Ron put an Invisibility Cloak over the three of them. "How are we going to manage it?"

"On the Nimbus," Harry said. "We'll fly at a small height, so it will be alright, even if we fall."

"Thank you very much."

"And the trunks?" Ron asked, pointing to their luggage. Hermione sighed, seeing there was no way out for her in any case, and cast the ever-useful Levitating Charm.

"But Muggles will be a little befuddled when they see flying bags," she added.

"Not if we keep to the railroad," Harry smiled. "It must be invisible to Muggles. No one will notice the trunks."

"Why, then, do we bother with this Cloak, especially considering it might be dangerous?"

"So that no one from the Ministry or elsewhere recognizes us. If we see anyone, we just drop the luggage and fly away quietly."

" _Drop_ the luggage?" Hermione was horrified. "I've taken _thirty-seven_ _books_ with me! I won't be leaving them!"

"You won't have to. With any luck, we'll get to Hogwarts with no accident. Who in his rightful mind would want to watch the road when the train's not there?"

Hermione's feeble protestations were in vain. The three of them, huddled under the cloak, saddled the Nimbus, and in a moment Hermione felt the familiar helpless sensation spread in her legs when they no longer touched the ground. She was in the most uncomfortable position of them all – she had to monitor the flying trunks with her wand, so that they wouldn't stop or fall or fly away.

She never saw it coming. Harry let out a small shriek, and a second later their broom was on the ground, and Hermione's face was in a large snowdrift. They had been flying only at the height of several feet, and the snow softened their fall, so she didn't even have the time to be frightened.

The cause of that fall, however, gave them plenty of opportunities to fear. A tall wizard in a dark cloak stood over them, twirling a wand in his fingers. His face was unknown to Hermione; he was in his mid-thirties and would have been handsome, had his features been a little softer. As it was, his pale face was sharp, his cold grey eyes sharper still. He smiled – an arrogant smile – that, combined with his silvery blond hair, struck Hermione as terribly familiar.

She wasn't mistaken.

"Lucius Malfoy," Ron said hatefully, trying to stand up.

"So, three students trying to break every rule possible," Malfoy spoke quietly. "Meddling in something they have no business to know."

"We weren't meddling in anything!" Ron cried. "We just wanted to get to Hogwarts."

"Such enthusiasm from a Weasley?" Malfoy raised an eyebrow. "As the school governor, I am well aware that you have got nothing to commend you. Why would a student who can hardly scrape Acceptables want to go to the school before the holidays are over? It's Christmastime, merry gentlemen."

Harry came to Ron's assistance:

"It was a bet."

"Yes," Hermione mustered the courage to speak too. " _I_ dared them to go to Hogwarts during the holidays. It was stupid of me. I never thought they'll actually do it. That's why, when I realized they took it seriously, I decided to go with them and see they don't get in trouble."

"We weren't going to do anything," Harry continued. "Only to Hogwarts and back."

"Hm," Mr. Malfoy pointed to their luggage, now lying in a big heap in a small distance. "Why all these bags then?"

"That's my fault as well," Hermione hazarded. "I had a fight with Harry and Ron. I boasted that I can do Locomotor Charm and they cannot, and dared them to prove otherwise."

Harry and Ron shot her warning looks. This could get them into hot water more than anything that had already happened. Locomotor Charm was studied in the fifth year – unlike the simple Leviosa, it was longer, and needed less directions from the performer's wand. Hermione knew about it, but had never actually tried. Well, it would have been idiotic to say the boys can't do Leviosa – even Ron had mastered it by now!

"Oh indeed?" asked Malfoy. Hermione couldn't tell whether his interest was mocked or genuine. "Would you demonstrate it, then, miss?"

A dangerous edge to his voice showed it was no idle request. _Concentration, pronounce carefully, concentration, pronounce carefully_... Pretending to fumble for her wand in the pockets, she furiously tried to remember everything she had in _A Handbook on Daily-Used Charms_ , one of her many background-reading choices.

" _Locomotor Trunks_ ," she said, hand trembling as she moved her wand in the same (she hoped) way as described in _A Handbook_. For a split moment, nothing happened, but then, finally, the trunks rose in the air and flew obediently to Hermione.

Now she was certain Malfoy was honestly surprised.

"Very impressive," he admitted. "Nevertheless, my question about what are you doing here still stands. I'm not inclined to believe fish stories fed to me by a bunch of Gryffindors."

"What is _your_ business here, anyway?" Ron pointed his wand at Malfoy, before Hermione could stop him. The latter didn't even move his hand – a nonverbal spell threw Ron's wand several feet away and nearly knocked Ron off his feet.

"First, as a governor of Hogwarts, it is my duty to see to the children's safety," Malfoy said condescendingly. "I think, and anyone would agree, that your journey is highly unsafe. Second, as a Ministry representative, I am to stop any use of underage magic. The three of you were already given a warning only yesterday."

Dread rose in Hermione's heart. Even Diana Greengrass was firm that a warning was enough just for the first time, and Draco Malfoy's father will show no kindness towards them, that was sure. _We are going to be expelled_ , she thought, tears welling in her eyes. _There's no denying it._

"But I can change my mind about reporting your adventure," Malfoy said suddenly, smiling again (such was the nature of that smile that Hermione would have preferred him looking at them with haughtiness). "If only – only – the three of you will forget everything you have conjured up – most wild ideas there are – about Professor Quirrell."

They stared at him wide-eyed.

"H-how do you know?" squeaked Hermione. Honestly, she didn't expect that. She thought that as Draco was a boastful arrogant idiot (idiot being the key word), his father would be just a grown-up version of him. Apparently not.

Malfoy chuckled:

"The books on it are all in the Restricted Section, Miss Granger, and Professor Snape only gives Occlumency lessons to seventh years of his House, no chance of you learning anything of this sort. Well? What about the deal I suggested?"

"How can we _forget_ anything on purpose?" Harry said defiantly. "I mean – we can promise not to tell, but we will remember it anyway!"

"First years are first years," Malfoy said, assuming a slightly annoyed expression. "There are two main ways to dispense of unwanted memories. I can offer you the easy one, if you cooperate."

"What if we don't?"

"Harry!" Hermione whispered warningly. Obviously, Harry, too, thought himself opposing nothing but a bigger variant of Draco.

"If you don't, no difference to _me_ ," said Malfoy coldly. "You will only find yourself missing more memories than you should."

As she thought on it later, it seemed funny – the worst fear that struck Hermione after that threat was that she'd forget Liquid Transfiguration. Malfoy gave her a long look (she figured it was somehow connected with the mind-reading he performed).

"See?" there was a sugary smile on his face, looking so out-of-place it sent a jolt of horror through her. "The young Muggle-born does appear to be smarter than the two of you. She doesn't want to forget things she has learned."

Suddenly, he grabbed her shoulder with one hand, and pressed his wand to the right side of her head with another. Unwillingly, Hermione saw bright flashes of her recent memories before her. Professor Snape speaking the Balance Charm at the match... Professor Quirrell stuttering about his encounter with a vampire... The paragraph on Quirrell in _Hogwarts, A History_... Then, suddenly, there was a glitter of blue before her eyes, and everything went blank.

When her vision cleared, she was sitting on her biggest trunk on the platform at King's Cross, with Harry and Ron by her side, both looking very confused.

"Go to the Leaky Cauldron at once," Lucius Malfoy ordered. "The school has paid for you staying there, not wandering around the city."

"O-of course," Hermione stammered, trying to recall what possessed them to leave the Cauldron at all. What fools they had been! And caught by no one but Draco's awful father – Draco will tease them mercilessly when the term begins... Anyway, Hermione felt no wish to converse with Malfoy senior any further, so she stood up and, saying a strained polite goodbye, pulled the boys after her, Levitating the trunks by their side.

They got to the Leaky Cauldron by bus – in silence, as to not violate the Statute of Secrecy any longer. But as soon as they were back in the bar, Harry broke out:

"What _happened_?"

"We – we decided to fly to Hogwarts," Ron said uncertainly. "Draco's father discovered us and brought us back."

"But _why_?" exclaimed Hermione. "Why would we want to go to Hogwarts?"

"I don't know," Harry said, frowning. "We wanted to help them fight the Dark magic, probably?.."

Ron and Hermione looked at each other, shrugging. Hermione struggled to remember. There was a bright blue sparkle after Malfoy caught them... right in front of her eyes...

"I feel like I've been brainwashed," Ron complained. "That's what the Imperius Charm feels like, Dad says."

"Ron!" Hermione said reprovingly. "What are you talking about? Mr. Malfoy was every inch as horrible as Draco, if not more, but he is a Ministry official! Are you hinting he used an Unforgivable – on _children_?"

"He used something," said Harry. "Definitely. I recall – a blue spell from his wand... What for?"

"Perhaps a Patronus," Hermione shrugged. "Or a Lumos charm – I've read some wands cast light of sky blue color, that depends on the wand material. Dozens of possibilities. By the way, Unforgivables all reflect bright green or crimson, so, Ron, stop conjuring your idiotic Imperius theories."

"Whatever Malfoy did, it couldn't have been to our good," Ron said with a convinced air. "Dad always fights with him at the Ministry. When You-Know-Who was defeated, Hermione, the Malfoys were one of the first to return to our cause. They said they were controlled by Imperius. But Dad doesn't believe them. They _hate_ Muggle-borns – or anyone else who's not as pure-blood as they are."

"Your family is pure-blood," Hermione pointed out. "Why do they fight with you?"

"That's obvious! We're..." Ron mocked Draco, " _the Weasleys, blood-traitors, associated with Muggles..._ Blah and blah and blah, blah. Who are we to stand against one of the most refined clans of Wizarding England? And so on."

"I'll try to look up the spell Malfoy used," she said, opening her trunk with books. "I have _Encyclopedia of Wand Magic_ with me."

"Does it have information on Dark charms?" Harry asked.

"Boys, stop it! Even if Malfoy hurt us somehow, he couldn't do it with Dark magic! Ron, I've read that the Ministry watches out for use of Dark spells – isn't it so?"

"Right," Ron admitted. "The moment Dark magic is used, the Ministry's notified of it."

"There you are! Malfoy might be rich and powerful as you say, but he's not crazy to perform a Dark spell like this, without any measure of protection, leaving witnesses alive!"

"Hermione, please, it's not an Agatha Christie novel," said Harry. She rolled her eyes:

"Now, I am going to look for this thing, whatever it was. I don't know about you, but I feel quite normal... apart from thinking there's something crucial I've forgotten."

"Exactly this," Ron agreed. Harry nodded too, and Hermione pulled _Encyclopedia of Wand Magic_ out of the trunk.

* * *

"The Dark Lord has a chance to rise again," Lucius Malfoy spoke in a lowered whisper as he walked into the living-room.

His wife, a tall, slender woman with a head of light golden hair, raised her face from her wand that she had been polishing.

"He does?" she whispered in an even quieter voice. "You mean – like – really he does?"

"Yes, Cissy. We've always known he wasn't truly dead – and," Lucius allowed himself a triumphant smile. "He's going back."

Forgetting the wand, Mrs. Malfoy stood up:

"Does he need our assistance?"

"Certainly he does, but right now he has to stay down. Until he gains a new body at least. Right now he's hiding in the head of Quirrell."

Narcissa's small mouth twisted in disgust:

" _Quirrell_? The Mudblood lackwit? Lucius – are you sure – I mean – it's not a trick? What if it's a trap by Dumbledore to lure us?.."

"Calm down," Lucius said. "I've been to the school and _talked_ to him. I will not confuse the Dark Lord with anyone."

He sat down by her side, hardly containing his excitement. Narcissa, though undoubtedly glad, was calmer. Of course she used to support the Dark Lord in the days of his glory – certainly she would be happy if he came back. But she was raised in the old patriarchal way, and with her mother's milk she absorbed the idea of women keeping the household and staying out of politics. That was her main difference from her temperate eldest sister, Bellatrix, who had fought alongside her husband and the Dark Lord like a man. Narcissa was never like this. Barely out of school, she married the most pure-blood of her suitors, and henceforth she had made it her only duty to obey her husband and protect her children if any would come. While Lucius was on the battlefields, ridding the country of Mudbloods and anyone who opposed Lord Voldemort, she stayed at home, surrounded by countless protection spells, the number of which increased as Narcissa gave birth to Draco. Nevertheless, despite all these spells, she was plagued with fear for her son's safety and hoped that Voldemort ( _or_ , her treacherous heart added, _just anyone_ ) would triumph and the war would end. Had it not been for the Dark Lord's sudden downfall, Narcissa might have had met the fate similar to the Potters.

"That weakling Fudge will soon know who is fit to rule," Lucius was meanwhile speaking. "Dumbledore too. They've had their time long enough. Perhaps, when the Dark Lord has the whole world at his feet, he will name me Minister of Magic in Britain. Or, who knows, the whole of Europe."

"It would be wonderful," smiled Narcissa. "I am utterly sick of these old fools. But would you tell me a bit about how the Dark Lord's planning to return to full strength?"

"As for now, it's a top secret," said Lucius importantly. "But he has to be at Hogwarts constantly to do it, that's why he chose Quirrell."

"Yet why him? Why not a pure-blood? Even someone like Sprout would have been more suitable..."

"My dear, at this stage the Dark Lord needs either someone very devoted to him – no one of such people, unfortunately, has access to Hogwarts – or someone easily influenced. Do you imagine a fanatic supporter of Dumbledore like Sprout agreeing to assist someone who isn't corporeal yet?"

"Yes, I believe she would stand firm ground," Narcissa agreed. "But Quirrell was always so pointedly against Lord Voldemort... He must have been _very_ distressed about the affair with the Greengrass girl, to turn sides so."

"The Greengrasses have always had an inclination towards Mudbloods, no matter what Titus says at Wizengamot," said Lucius. "It's a pity his niece is in the same year as Draco. I don't want them to become too friendly."

"Don't worry, dear," Narcissa said soothingly. "Draco has told me all about school. He is friends with boys – the _right_ kind. As for girls, the only one whom he's friendly with is dear Pansy."

"Good. At least he remembers to converse with the right ones. I wish he understood the need to study just as well."

"He's young," she pleaded. "It will come in time."

"Severus has sent me the school reports, Cissy. He encourages Draco at his lessons as much as he can, yet Draco barely managed to get an E for the half-term essay. At Transfiguration and Charms, he never gets higher than A! You are too soft with him, Cissy."

"But Hogwarts has way too high standards," whispered Narcissa. Draco's upbringing was the only subject on which she dared to oppose her husband. "I remember, when I was in my first year..."

"When _I_ was in my first year," Lucius cut in, "I had all Outstandings, and whenever I got an E, I was ashamed of myself. Draco, however, seems to think wealth and influence just appear out of thin air."

"H-he told me he's the best in Potions..."

"Cissy, you are too indulgent. Next time he says he's the best, bring him to me for Legilimency."

" _Lucius_!"

"Stop it, Narcissa. Here are the half-term Potions results," he Summoned a long sheet of parchment. "Look and see."

Narcissa unrolled the parchment and read aloud:

"Malfoy, Draco – sixty-nine out of one hundred..."

"You call it the best?"

"Oh, but – there are only four students ahead of him..." she looked at the names. "Turpin, Lisa – seventy-eight... Goldstein, Anthony – eighty-one..."

"A Ravenclaw, a Ravenclaw," commented Lucius.

"Boot, Terry – eighty-six..."

"A Ravenclaw too."

"Granger, Hermione – ninety-one. Who's this?" Narcissa's red manicured nail pointed at the top name. "I know all British half-bloods by heart – does it mean she's..."

"Mudblood through and through," Lucius finished grimly. "At Gryffindor. Draco should feel _ashamed_ at being beaten by the sorts of her!"

"How can a Mudblood achieve a high mark in Potions?" Narcissa scowled.

"Simply by working as a mule. Severus wrote that he could find hardly anything to count as mistakes in her work. He says that had Draco been half as industrious, he would have had a solid hundred."

"Mudbloods," was Narcissa's only comment.

"Speaking of which," Lucius suddenly remembered. "These Gryffindors managed to find out many things about the Dark Lord. Luckily I intercepted them and got their memories of it."

"You'll destroy them?" Narcissa asked automatically, still looking at the school report with disappointment.

"Not now. They might prove useful for Borgin. In fact, I'll go and offer them in the shop right now."

Narcissa, who expected to spend a quiet evening with her husband, could hardly hide her sadness. Now he'd go to Knockturn Alley, spend several hours bargaining, then he'd think of some deal at the Ministry and Apparate there, then something else...

"Till later, Cissy," he kissed her hand and Apparated, three flasks of bluish memory substance in his pocket.

Mrs. Malfoy sighed and called Dobby to bring her a pot of strong tea. _Does Lucius love me and Draco as much as I love him?_ she thought. _Or am I still nothing for him but a suitable pure-blood wife?_ With Lucius's cold exterior, you never knew. She had learned to love him over the years – wouldn't have _dreamed_ of a different man – but she feared she couldn't understand him. He was always so formal with her, just like with others... _Stop it, Narcissa Black. You weren't brought up to put your foolish fancies in the first place, like your traitor of a sister. You should praise your good fortune. You married one of the Malfoy family, and you have an heir. Your husband treats you according to your station in life, and don't you dare complain._ As if Narcissa's mother was alive again and lecturing her.

 _Crack_.

"Lucius? So soon?" Narcissa exclaimed, noticing the flasks were gone.

"Borgin gave me fifty Galleons a flask," Lucius said. "Liquid memories are often used in his... _production_."

"I – I didn't expect you for another two hours," she confessed.

"It's one of the last days I can spend at least partly at home," he answered softly. "The school year begins soon, and my governor duties will call me too."

He came home to spend time with me? Narcissa felt her cheeks grow warm, ashamed of her thoughts of minutes ago.

"Come here, Cissy," he whispered, putting his cane away and pulling her onto his lap.

"The Dark Lord..." she began.

"Forget the Dark Lord and Draco's report. For the time."

His lips found hers, strands of his long hair fell over her face, and he wasn't cold at all.

* * *

At Borgin & Burkes, Mr. Borgin was locking a cupboard labeled _Children's Extracted Memories_ – _To be used to construct permanent Memory Curses_.

"Good work, Mr. Malfoy, good work," he murmured. "The supply has been growing thin since the Dark Lord's downfall... Or perhaps I'll sell it to some _real_ dealers..."

Borgin never participated in fully Dark magic – when choosing a place for his shop, he picked Knockturn Alley because of the huge chance for gold here, for its nearness to Gringotts. But Knockturn Alley was under the Ministry's part-control, unfortunately – they could tolerate it right next to the peaceful and cheery Diagon Alley, but only as long as it didn't get outright criminal. By real dealers he meant his colleagues in the country, who specialized in Dark spells – really dark.

 _Let's see... if I could sell it to old Nollard for hundred a flask... but then, if I use some of it to curse the Ever-Closed Book... I might make a much better deal... Besides, Nollard, with his resources, can mix up something pretty expensive, and I will lose customers to him..._

He cared, of course, for the unique products he sold, he had one of the finest assortments in England – but first and foremost, Mr. Borgin was a merchant. Unlike these fools from Diagon Alley, like Ollivander, he held his financial interests closest to heart. Ollivander, they said, could sell a three-galleon wand to some young idiot just because "it fitted better" and a six-galleon one "didn't fit"! Why, everyone knows charms to strengthen a wand. _Everyone, that is, clever enough to shop in Borgin and Burkes._

 _Malfoy hinted that something spectacular is coming. If I got his hints, he was speaking of the Dark Lord's return. Well, well. I think he has some grounds to believe it. Therefore... of course, it may turn to nothing in the end... therefore, I'd rather keep the flasks. If later the Dark Lord takes over, I will finally lay my hands on basilisk fangs – he promised me, just before his downfall. Then, with these memories, and the fangs... why, I could set up a Bloodclearing Curse!_ Mr. Borgin licked his lips. He didn't see Mudbloods being cut to pieces by an invisible force – he saw hundreds of Galleons flowing into his pockets. Or, to be specific, crowds of rich clients handing him hundreds of Galleons for the curse that slices Mudbloods to pieces.

An tiny owl with the letter attached to its leg with a pink ribbon tapped softly on the window.

 _Prepare for inspection, January 2nd. Shacklebolt with a group of eleven._

 _– D._

His faithful Ministry informant, good old Dolores. Always warning him about upcoming inspections. Well, then... If these kids Malfoy tackled got suspicious and said something, he'd better hide his new trophy, and far away.

Dolores has also sent him a hundred Galleons (in her usual pink plush purse with a picture of a kitten). Borgin smiled – she certainly knew how to keep him silent. If he let it slip that a high-rank Ministry worker was associated with Knockturn Alley... well, Dolores would be in a lot of trouble. She had already been the laughing stock of every wizard family after her nephew was turned into a toad by his own bride. Dolores could deal with threats with ease, but the teases she got were the worst torture for her. Naturally, she was protecting her reputation like a crazy.

So, Shacklebolt... A fishy sort of guy, Borgin mused. One of the smartest of their lot. Only Mad-Eye was worse – but, thankfully, he was never sent with inspection groups. And Mad-Eye at least always said what he thought, while Shacklebolt could be calm and pleasant and polite with you and issue a warrant for your arrest an hour later. Of all the inspecting Aurors, Borgin personally preferred Scrimgeour – the most careful and least rash. If you were careful enough to store all suspicious and outlawed products away, Scrimgeour would give a speech about harmony and balance and leave you.

With Shacklebolt, it needed to be handled with kid gloves. Careful alibis for every suspicious deal made in the country since the previous inspection. A good Occlumency shield, or, better to say, shields, the assistant needed them too – Borgin didn't know whether Shacklebolt was a Legilimens or just good at deduction, but being prepared had never hurt anyone.

"Alright," Borgin said aloud. "Let's prepare for the arrival of these Ministry rats."


	9. Knockturn Alley

The boys kept her company for about ten minutes or so, but neither of them was able to work with books as hard as she could. She noticed they were becoming increasingly more restless, giving longing looks through the windows, where Diagon Alley was buzzing with activity. When Seamus Finnigan came out of his room and suggested going to the Magical Menagerie, Ron didn't even try to hide his joy.

"I need to buy food for Scabbers anyway," he shrugged when Harry, still intent on helping Hermione, shot him a glance of reproach.

Their plan backfired for the moment, however – Tom adamantly refused to let them out without a guard. The boys, even Harry, busied themselves with Gobstones, while Hermione continued to search for anything helpful in her _Encyclopedia_. She read the chapter on Unforgivables over and over until she was completely sure they hadn't been under Imperius. First, the Imperius Curse didn't involve losing your consciousness and memories completely – while you were controlled, you were aware of yourself, only your will lost all power. Second – Hermione double-checked it – Unforgivables never showed blue light. They were usually green, in battle – when shot very quickly – they could be seen as red sparkles, and when the wand was made of something other than wood (some wandmakers preferred metal wires, and there even were originals who managed to produce stone wands) the curses could have a yellow shade, but blue was a color that was never, ever, ever associated with the Dark Arts.

From the strictly Dark magic Hermione moved to the lighter curses – giving special attention to the different forms of Confundus, Petrificus, and Stupefying Charms. But these ones were never visible – unless they collided with some other charm directly, and in that case they were usually red or pink. When the girl decided to simply look up anything that could be blue, she was immediately lost in the endless variety of possibilities, from Household Magic to Battle Spells. Which one did Malfoy use?

Battle Spells usually involved getting injured in some way or other, but some of them did knock the victim out for some time – from several minutes to several hours. Yet Hermione couldn't help but feel that performing the incredibly difficult Inscio Extenso against three helpless eleven-year-olds was a bit of an overkill. A simple Stupefy would have done the job, especially since she was the only one of them able to cast Shields, and these she created were too weak for a wizard like Malfoy. Besides, the effects of Inscio Extenso lasted for twelve hours or sometimes even more.

Some Medical Charms were used to anesthetize the patient, and many of them dealt with the problem radically and turned off his consciousness for a while. But such charms were sometimes even more complicated than Battle Spells, and most of them were unknown to anyone but mediwizards.

Household Magic, Reversal Spells, Conjuring Spells, Vanishing Spells… Hermione's head was buzzing with Latin, Assyrian, Maya, Egyptian and Linear B words, and an hour later she was still in the dark. Of course, the _Encyclopedia_ didn't contain every spell possible – only the best-known ones. There were thousands more in every category. The feeble hope of figuring out Malfoy's strategy started to die down.

"Hey, kids!" a female voice said from the door. Looking up, Hermione saw a woman of roughly Miss Greengrass's age, with bright pink hair. "I am your new bodyguard, Tonks."

"Mrs. Tonks, how nice to meet you!" Hermione began.

"Sorry to interrrupt – just Tonks, without the Missus part," the pink-haired Auror said with a smile.

"Er… Tonks. I am Hermione Granger, and these are Harry Potter, Ron Weasley and Seamus Finnigan."

"Harry Potter!" Tonks exclaimed. "Himself!"

She rushed to them (knocking a sugar-bowl from a table on the way) and shook their hands, starting with Harry's.

"So glad to have met you at last! Now, I know that putting four Gryffindors into an enclosed space is never a good idea. I think you're all dying to have a walk."

"Oh yes, Mis…ehm, Tonks!" Ron nodded eagerly. "Seamus and I want to visit the Magical Menagerie."

"Hedwig could use some fresh food, too," Harry joined in. "And – Ron, how about Quality Quidditch Supplies afterwards?"

"And I really need to visit Flourish and Blotts," Hermione added.

"Merlin, what a schedule!" Tonks laughed. "All right. The Menagerie first, then Quidditch Supplies, then the bookstore. The heaviest purchases are best left for the last."

And so they set off, finally breathing fresh air. In the Magical Menagerie, the boys bought food for their pets. Hermione was tempted to get in the shop as well and look for an owl, but she reminded herself that she might have to buy a lot of books, and they weren't cheap.

In Quality Quidditch Supplies, she accompanied the boys – for the sake of a small bookcase hidden between the flashy robes and cans of broomstick polish. The bookcase, of course, was of little help in her quest – there were only books like _Modifications of Quidditch Worldwide_ , _Keepers' Most Widespread Tricks_ or _1000 Ways to Avoid the Bludger_. After some consideration, Hermione spent three Galleons on _Security during a Match: A Guide for the Cheering Crowd_ – just in case Harry was attacked while playing again.

The boys were in the section of Hogwarts Quidditch robes – she saw them among the red-and-gold fabric, one red head, two black heads, one platinum blond… what?!

Hurriedly stuffing _Security during a Match_ into the bag, Hermione ran to the boys' aid. Tonks was safely behind them, talking to the woman at the counter.

"Harry Potter hiding under the Aurors' wings," Draco Malfoy was saying at present. "While the staff is busy catching the culprit. Yeah, Potter, that's what true heroes do."

"Looks like you are the truest hero of all in that case," Harry retorted.

"Well, Potter, I'm not hinting at anything, but if I were you, I would at least check Knockturn Alley for clues. But thankfully I am myself and I am doing just that."

Sweeping away the hanging robes that blocked her view, Hermione saw Draco purposefully heading for a small, dark door. Harry, Ron and Seamus, enraged, were ready to follow him and, away from Tonks's earshot, give him a nice handful of especially nasty spells.

"Stop!" whispered Hermione. "Knockturn Alley is a dangerous place! We aren't allowed there!"

"Of course, Mudblood scum like you shouldn't take a step down it," Malfoy grinned malevolently. "They use your skin for their protective spells."

Apparently there was something very awful he had said, because Ron and Seamus launched at him with raised fists. Harry, although clearly not seeing what exactly the reason was, joined them in no time. Malfoy somehow managed to pull away, opened the small, dark door and disappeared behind. The Gryffindor boys followed suit.

The sensible part of Hermione urged her to call on Tonks for help. If Draco Malfoy was caught deliberately dragging others to an outright dangerous place, he could face a serious punishment – up to expulsion! But then, his rich father would most certainly buy him a way out of it all, and then Draco would gloat for ever…

Hermione opened the door and ran after the boys.

She found herself in a dark, gloomy lane, with creepy-looking shops on its sides, grey muddy snow covering the earth, and highly odd people – though very few of them – walking in and out of the shops. There was no sign at all of either Draco or her friends.

"What's a little pretty child doing here on her own?" a bearded wizard in a shabby mantle spoke to her, twitching his long nose and smiling in a way that made her want to run for her life. Panicking, Hermione pulled out her wand and yelled the first spell that came to her mind:

" _Petrificus Totalus_!"

The bearded wizard fell in the snow without a word.

"Look! The girl's not as fragile as she looks!" another wizard said appreciatively. A few other bystanders laughed and applauded.

"Nice work, dear," an elderly witch in purple robes patted Hermione on the shoulder. "Hogwarts, right?"

The witch seemed to be at least adequate, and Hermione decided the wand could wait. She kept it at the ready anyway, of course.

"Yes," she answered. "First year, Gryffindor."

"I was a Ravenclaw," said the witch (it was a bit of a shock for Hermione – she had thought automatically that all wizards who meddled with the Dark side came from Slytherin). "Want to see my shop? Got some very useful things for schoolchildren – a snuffbox that coughs up a Galleon every hour, would you like it? Ten Sickles, a discount for a nice girl that you are."

Well, the Ravenclaw brain must have worn out during the years spent in Knockturn Alley – did the witch really hope for a cheap trick like this to work?

"I – am sorry, ma'am. I'm in a hurry. Looking for my friends. Have you seen them? Three boys, one black-haired and with glasses, one just black-haired, one red-haired."

"Master Malfoy was with them, yeah. They ran down there," the witch pointed the direction. "To Borgin's shop, I gather. But don't you want to see a clock that bites…"

Whom and why the clock bit, Hermione didn't listen. She ran down the alley.

Medusa Aenner, owner of Finest Forgeries and the Quiet Mandrake Public House, gritted her teeth. She didn't like her business disregarded. Of course, one small word (the one that begins with an I), and the girl would agree for any employment. But the Ministry was watching them too closely – detection of an Unforgivable would lead to a thorough inspection and, worse, possible complete elimination of the whole Alley. Still, there were other ways to pay back these insolent youths…

Mrs. Aenner's wand shot up.

" _Tardo Mentis_!"

That should teach the girl a lesson. For an hour, she'll be slow and as dim-witted as the Chudley Cannons' Keeper.

She grumbled a Finite at the unfortunate Zed Gerymond, adding:

"You can have another go with the girl – I've taken care of it."

Gerymond shuddered:

"Better not. Meddy, which of your girls is free right now?"

* * *

Rolanda Hooch was flying one of the school Shooting Stars, trying to decide whether it would be safe to keep in for the students' lessons. Some first-year mischief-maker tore off half its twigs, and she had a hard time repairing the tail.

Suddenly, something large but soft hit her on the head. She swerved to the left – and into her hands fell a Petrified eagle-owl.

Madam Hooch stared at it. The owl had a torn shred of paper attached to one of its legs, and a ring on the other leg. The ring had an inscription on it:

 _Elfric. Bred in Central Westminster Owlery, #342, 1986_

It was odd. Central Westminster Owlery could only be afforded by the richest purebloods. But the richest purebloods would never write a letter on paper – they considered it a strictly Muggle invention.

"Finite Incantatem," Madam Hooch said absentmindedly, and the owl stirred. Thank goodness, it had obviously been a simple Petrificus.

Elfric gave a soft hoot and looked at her affectionately. He recognized her, it was clear. The problem was that she didn't. Lowering her broom on the ground, she tried to remember whose owl he was, but in vain. There were hundreds of owls always flying around Hogwarts, dozens eagle-owls among them.

"Alright, I'll look you up on the Central Westminster's register," she said. "The main question is who Petrified you."

Usually she would have thought it had been merely a student who might have thought it a good joke. But everything was too strange to be a coincidence. The attack on the Grey Lady. The torn letter. The paper.

She put the broom into her office, let Elfric inside her own owl's cage, and went to the library. Hopefully Central Westminster Owlery's 1986 catalogue wasn't taken out by some owl-breeding enthusiast.

Madam Pince was slightly surprised at her colleague's unexpected interest in owleries, but handed over the catalogue without questions.

 _# 342. Pharaoh eagle-owl, hatchling of Imhotep and Nightcatcher, she read, Price on request._ And then there was a handwritten remark: _Sold for 60 Galleons to Lord Titus Greengrass. Placed on Wizarding Postal Register under the name of Elfric, owner – Diana Greengrass._

Wizarding Postal Register was the Ministry's attempt to centralize the owl post. The owls sold in elite owleries were all included there, and Fudge was proud that the messengers were monitored so well. Unfortunately, simple shops such as the Menagerie, who sold owls to all sorts of customers, including families of Muggle-borns, didn't even bother with the Register…

At least, now Madam Hooch knew the owner. Of course she remembered her. Miss Greengrass, Slytherin, graduated the year before last. A nice, polite girl, a good enough flier, though nothing extraordinary. Many students didn't believe she was in Slytherin – so set they were on the "evil Slytherins" stereotype. But behind her friendly exterior there was a steely determination. "This cunning folk use any means to achieve their ends," as the Hat sang in its last song, and it was only too true about Diana.

The girl managed to begin Auror training in her seventh year, using Merlin knows what means to persuade Moody to teach a schoolgirl. When she had been a prefect, other prefects had always agreed with her decisions – after long furious debates. Even Bill Weasley with his iron will often had to yield.

Of course, Miss Greengrass's wildest decision to take Muggle Studies – and risk being treated with disdain by her pureblood circle – didn't end well. That story involving Quirrell was hushed up by Dumbledore, but all teachers in Hogwarts knew it in some version or other. Personally, Madam Hooch was sure Quirrell was the guilty party – he was always too reckless and prone to doing first and thinking afterwards. How in the world did he end up in Hufflepuff and not in Gryffindor? He must have believed it a brilliant plan – to force an upper-class girl into marriage, thus raising his own rank in the wizarding society.

Anyway, Madam Hooch decided to pass the matter of the Petrified owl to Professor Snape. He understood much more in the current goings-on than she did, and Diana Greengrass had been his student after all.

* * *

Severus Snape was rereading his old Defense notes. In his N.E.W.T. years he did a lot of research on curses, including the Unforgivables. Of course, he had no idea about their effects on spectres, but he thought that by searching through his notes he could find a link to some useful book.

The door of his office opened, and Madam Hooch stepped inside.

"Sorry to bother you, Severus – something odd has happened."

"Yes?" he asked, annoyed. He noticed Elfric, Diana Greengrass's owl, on her shoulder. Diana Greengrass! The last person he would want to get involved in Hogwarts matters, since he was in the process of tracking down Quirrell.

"This owl fell from the window, Petrified," explained Madam Hooch. "I looked it up in Central Westminster's catalogue – it belongs to Titus Greengrass's daughter. And there was a piece of paper attached to its leg."

Severus frowned:

"One more point to my suspicions."

"What do you mean?"

"Who is Miss Greengrass writing to?"

"Could be anyone. Her cousin, for example."

"Of course, paper is just the material for correspondence between two aristocrats."

"But then – what?"

"Rolanda, you might try and use your head. Even the Weasleys wouldn't want to receive a letter on paper. Only real Muggle-friends would accept it. Miss Greengrass was of course writing to Quirrell."

"But then... You mean – _Quirrell_ shot down the owl? He can't stammer through the simplest spells!"

Severus didn't reply. Taking a handful of Floo powder out of a box, he stepped into his fireplace and spoke:

"Auror Headquarters, Alastor Moody's office!"

* * *

Hermione felt sick. It seemed her brains had turned into cottage cheese. Her thoughts, usually quick, were progressing slowly and lazily. When she reached a turn, it took her about two minutes to notice the boys' trace in the snow on the right road.

Almost immediately she caught up with them. They were having a fight in front of Borgin and Burkes shop: Jake Macnair and Pansy Parkinson had appeared, it seemed, from nowhere, and Malfoy felt much more sure of himself than when alone. He was fighting Harry, Jake was wrestling with Ron, and Pansy dueled Seamus. Harry had hit Draco with Rictumsempra, and Jake yelled:

" _Finite Incantatem!_ " – but missed, hitting Hermione instead. Her head immediately felt all right.

"Look!" Pansy shouted, Stupefying Seamus. "There is their Mudblood little friend!"

Harry, not thinking about any magic, kicked her under the knee, and she fell with a loud yelp.

"Listen," said Hermione in what she hoped was a firm self-assured voice. "You'd better stop this nonsense. Auror Tonks will be here any moment."

"Will she?" laughed Draco. "I don't think so. For inspecting Knockturn Alley, Aurors need a special signed permission from Mad-Eye at least."

"Besides..." Jake Macnair began. But they never learned what was there "besides". Hermione, seeing that her arrival had distracted the Slytherins, pointed her wand at Draco and yelled the first spell that came to her mind:

" _Locomotor Mortis_!"

" _Stupefy_!" Harry bellowed at Macnair. Pansy, as both boys were knocked unconscious (Draco's legs twisting and intertwining), shrieked with fear and pretended to faint as well.

"Now," Hermione said. "Let's go – oh, Seamus, you're alright?"

Seamus in the meanwhile was slowly getting up.

"I think so," he answered, checking his hands for injuries. But there were only minor scratches – and a _lot_ of mud.

"Let's go then. Come on! It is really creepy here. I don't know about you, I want to return to the Cauldron. Tonks must be going crazy by now."

Suddenly, Harry looked at the window of Borgin and Burkes. Then he walked closer to it and gave it a better look.

"Now what?" asked Hermione.

"Look!" whispered Harry. "Look there!"

Ron and Hermione went to him, and he pointed out a cupboard inside a dark dusty room. A light grey tablet on the cupboard read _Children's Extracted Memories_. Hermione clasped her hand over her mouth.

"D'you think it's what happened to us?" Ron asked.

"I don't know," Harry said, his eyes still wide from the shock. "But look – we can't remember several things from today. And Draco must know this place – he might have been here with his father. What if Lucius sold our memories to these Borgin and Burkes chaps?"

Looking behind them, Hermione said:

"Harry, Ron, watch out – Parkinson has run away."

"Oh no," Harry said. "Quick, let's get inside the shop!"

"Are you completely nuts? What are you talking about?"

"If she returns with some more Slytherins, they'll think we're searching for the exit into Diagon Alley. They'll never suspect we've hidden ourselves here. We must get inside the shop before Malfoy and Macnair come to their senses!"

Not giving either Hermione or Ron a chance to protest, he pulled them into Borgin and Burkes. The wooden floor creaked under their feet so loudly that they must have heard it all over the alley.

"Harry, put on the Cloak at least!" begged Hermione.

He nodded and searched in his bag. He searched... and searched... he took everything out...

"It's gone..." he said, confused. "It's disappeared..."

"Over there!" Ron pointed to a large table covered with a tablecloth completely. The cloth reached the floor, and there was enough space for the three of them to huddle inside.

About time, too. A thin wizard, with a face that looked permanently grimaced, in a dark green mantle embroidered with spiders, came downstairs.

"Who's there?" he hissed. "Who's there?"

Hermione hardly dared to breathe.

" _Hominum Revelio_!" the wizard said. Light blue rays began to roam the room. Immediately, Hermione drew her wand and Petrified the man before he had a chance to find them.

"Oh no," she groaned. "I didn't want to do it, you know. If it wasn't for your idiocy! We've already broken the law so much that when we return, we might be put in Azkaban!"

Ron gulped.

"Now, even if the whole House of Slytherin is waiting in Diagon Alley, I'd rather face them! Let's go!"

But it seemed all the world was against her. Just getting up to go, they heard voices at the door. Draco was wailing:

"This Mudblood! She locked my legs together!"

"I am ashamed at my son being beaten by a Mudblood," Lucius Malfoy said coldly.

"Promise me you'll see her expelled! She has performed so much magic..."

Now Hermione felt she had really gotten herself into hot water.

"As have you," Malfoy Sr. cut him. "If I convince the Ministry to expel these three Gryffindors, they'll want the same for you and your friends. I think that to name yourself _my son_ you have at least to finish Hogwarts."

"But Father!.."

"This is my final word. I've met Moody on my way from the Ministry, and he is furious with you. Luring four schoolmates to Knockturn Alley! If you continue your anti-Muggle actions in this crude manner, you'll land yourself in Azkaban in no time with the current regime."

"But..."

"Quiet. If it weren't for your foolish behavior, I wouldn't have had to leave home for the third time a day for an absolutely insignificant reason. Now, I need to see Mr. Borgin."

"We must make a run for it," Harry whispered desperately. "There's no other way we can escape."

He was right, and Hermione knew it. They had no intentions of dealing with either of the Malfoys again.

"But how can we get past them? They're at the door!" Ron said.

"They will step inside now... They are inside... Okay... On three: one – two – three – go!"

All three of them ran from under the table, almost colliding with the Malfoys. Both father and son watched, bewildered, as the trio disappeared through the door.

They ran towards the door that had let them into the alley. Hermione soon recognized the shops she had seen on her way to Borgin and Burkes.

"Stop them!" Lucius Malfoy's voice shouted from behind them. "Stop them!"

The witch that had talked to Hermione earlier blocked their way with a grin that promised nothing good:

"Now, you've rid yourself of Tardo? Clever girl, I say that again. But Lucius will reward me handsomely if I get rid of those who cross his path – _Portus_!" she screamed, pointing at Hermione's bag.

The world around Hermione blurred and span and blurred and span, wind and snow hitting her face.

* * *

"What do you mean – they've vanished?" snapped Moody. Tonks's hair was mouse-colored, her face sullen:

"I've searched the entirety of Knockturn Alley. _Nothing_!"

"CONSTANT VIGILANCE!" Moody yelled. "How many times do I have to repeat it? Why didn't you stop them from going there?"

Tonks said nothing. She knew it was her fault. She got distracted only for a moment, but these troublemakers managed to successfully disappear. Gryffindors!.. How they ever lived to old age without being slain a thousand times was a mystery to her.

"I'm going to get the Headmaster and the Minister informed about this," said Professor McGonagall, urgently summoned from Hogwarts. Her voice was trembling. "Four students! Four! Where can they be now? You of all people should know what can happen in Knockturn Alley! Weasley isn't liked there at all, Finnigan and Potter are half-blood, and poor Miss Granger is Muggle-born! I can't imagine..."

"There is one thing," Tonks said. "When I was coming up, I heard several guys from the Reversal Squad talking. An unsanctioned Portkey creation has been tracked in Knockturn Alley."

"There it is!" Moody slammed his fist on the table. "I doubt they would spill blood right there – Knockturn Alley has inspections after all."

"Ruddy good inspections they are," Severus Snape said sarcastically.

"Tonks!" shouted Moody. "Get to the Tracking Hall and ask about the Portkey. If we find it – we find the children!"

"Yes, sir," saluted Tonks.

"And double-check every room and hall you pass to make sure Arthur Weasley hasn't returned to work earlier. The man won't be too happy to learn that his son was lost in Knockturn Alley."

Her hair slowly darkening, Tonks left his office. But moments later, with a pop, another young woman appeared there.

"Miss Greengrass," said Snape with a scowl.

"Oh, Professor! Madam Hooch has owled to me!" Diana Greengrass cried. Her voice was unnaturally shrill. "She told me about Elfric... I need to go to Hogwarts, right now!"

"Don't be _ridiculous_ ," said Moody, making the last word sound like the counter-boggart spell. "I've told you about it already. Have you abandoned the practice I've assigned to you!"

"No, no, not at a-a-all," breaking down, Diana sat into an armchair, burying her face in her hands. "Th-there was only – only one – w-w-werewolf, a mere c-c-cub, I mean ch-child. We've had him t-transported to St. Mungo's."

"Merlin, what's the matter with you?" exclaimed Professor McGonagall as Diana wept hysterically. "Perhaps you should go home?.. I think I saw Mrs. Greengrass in the corridor, she can pick you up..."

"Don't fret over it, I'm d-d-disowned anyway," hiccuped Diana, wiping the tears away with her sleeve. "Let me go to Hogwarts."

"Miss Greengrass, in this condition you will be nothing but a large burden," said Snape. "I advise you calm down and leave for your Muggle apartment."

"Oh, fine," Diana gave him a betrayed look, and with a popping sound she Disapparated again.

"I think the world's gone perfectly mad," groaned Professor McGonagall.


	10. The Magical Border

Hermione caught her breath. For several seconds, she had felt like being inside a particularly fast park carousel. Her head span, and her throat clenched, as if she was about to be sick. She was brought to her senses by a gush of biting frosty wind, utterly unlike the mildly cold air in London. She opened her eyes and saw herself and the boys landed into a large pile of hardened snow.

"Harry?" she shook them, as they were still unconscious. "Ron? Seamus? You all right?"

One by one, they woke and looked at her drowsily.

"What happened?" asked Seamus. "It was like a particularly nasty air pit."

"Where are we?" exclaimed Harry. "It's awfully cold."

"I don't know," Hermione said, "but I think I have an idea of __how__ we got here. That witch... she said __Portus__. It's a spell used to create Portkeys."

"Are you sure?" Ron said. "Unsanctioned Portkeys are illegal, you know."

"I haven't been in Knockturn Alley before, but I think it doesn't bother with laws too much," said Hermione. "I hope someone will find us, from the Aurors or the Ministry."

"If it was an unsanctioned Portkey, they'll need to catch that woman and make her tell them where she put us," Ron explained. "If the Ministry doesn't authorize a Portkey, they'll never know where it led by themselves."

The situation was getting even more serious than Hermione had thought. They were in a middle of nowhere – in a pine forest full of snow, in a dreadful frost, with not a living soul in sight. If the Ministry doesn't find them in time... Hermione waved her wand and started a nice little fire. The boys, smiling gratefully, edged closer to it. But she wasn't relieved – true, it can keep them warm, but what about food? Drink? Shelter? She couldn't do these sorts of Transfiguration yet. She had done some exercises with Transfiguring apples into other things, but not vice versa. Professor McGonagall told her that you needed a separate license to make food by Transfiguration, and even in that case it was risky.

"We might try and find someone," Harry suggested. "If only I had my broom..."

"There's __Hominum Revelio__ , but first, I haven't ever practiced it yet, second, it only works for a small radius," said Hermione. "I think it would be better for us to go and search for people on foot."

"But what about the Aurors searching for us?" Seamus cried. "If we leave this place, it will make the search harder."

"Didn't you hear Ron? They won't be able to track us down by the Portkey anyway. We might freeze to death by the time they find us. Besides, if we do stumble upon other people, it would be a lot simpler for the Aurors to find us. Or for us to find a way to get home."

She Transfigured a nearby stone into a glass bottle and put her fire inside it. Then she gestured to the boys:

"Come on! We'll be much warmer if we move ourselves!"

They set off, huddled close together and clutching Hermione's bottle with their hands. The fire in its portable state was hot enough to warm them through the glass but not hot enough to burn.

As they walked and walked, stumbling and nearly falling every minute, and the forest seemed unending, Hermione had an eerie feeling of being in Carroll's Looking Glass world, where paths brought you to the same place you left, and you didn't move an inch even if you ran as fast as you could. Every tree looked the same as the previous one, and the dark grey cloudy sky and the creaking bluish snow didn't change a bit. Hermione remembered books on hiking she frequently noticed in bookshops, and felt ashamed that she hadn't read these, thinking they'd be boring, with nothing but photographs of famous Alpine sights inside. She remembered hearing something somewhere about finding your way with the help of stars. But not a single star could be seen through the clouds.

Sometimes they stopped to rest, and Hermione cast __Hominum Revelio__. It showed nothing – whether because there was no one around or because Hermione didn't do it properly, no one knew.

After what seemed like hours, Seamus sat on the ground:

"I must rest. I can't take a step more."

Hermione, whose legs already ached horribly, followed him immediately. Harry and Ron, obviously in a better form thanks to their Quidditch hobby and Harry's household work at home, would have gone further, but didn't object to their companions.

"I think we've been walking all night," Ron said thoughtfully. "Why is it still as dark as it was when we came here?"

"We weren't walking all night, I think," Harry reasoned. "It's only that it always seems later than it is really when you're tired."

Hermione sighed. She was beginning to fear they weren't on Earth at all – that it was some other world, with nothing but pine trees and snow and frost and the dark clouded sky. If only the stars or the moon were visible! Despite she knew many constellations in theory, she wouldn't have been able to find anything but the Big and the Small Dippers, but it would have been proof enough that they're not in some enchanted parallel universe!

Suddenly, rising her eyes from the fire (in the open again) she thought she saw the trees' shadows moving.

 _ _Nonsense__ , she told herself. __They are creepy in the dark, but they are just trees.__

She closed her eyes – and when she opened them once more, the shadows got closer. And larger. They weren't the trees' shapes, to think of it. Harry, Ron and Seamus have noticed it too, and they were drawing their wands with shaking hands. Hermione saw the paleness of their faces in the light of the fire, and she knew her face was no better.

The shadows somehow became three-dimensional. They looked like... Hermione shuddered... like black-haired grey-skinned women in dark-blue dresses. Was it her imagination?

The rustling of the snow and branches suddenly formed words – quiet, menacing words.

"Wrong... wrong... wrong..."

"We didn't mean to bother you, whoever you are!" Harry said. "Tell us, please, how can we get to the nearest village or town, and we'll leave!"

The rustling voices continued, unabashed.

"Wrong... wrong... wrong..."

Hermione thought it was the grey women speaking, but their mouths were closed tight. They did nothing but slowly advance on the children, bending from right to left like trees in the wind.

" _ _Protego__ ," she said, pointing her wand at them. Or tried to say, to be precise. There came no sound from her throat but feeble squeaks.

The women spread out their arms – their pale grey thin arms.

It was surprising that the natural reaction came only at this moment. Hermione screamed in fear, turned and ran. She didn't look at the boys, but she heard their footsteps in unison with hers. She ran, forgetting about her aching legs, about her bottle with fire, about everything – she just wanted to get far, far away from the grey women and the bodiless voices. The women she did apparently leave behind, but somehow the voice continued. Every creak of snow under her feet, every movement of a branch above joined in the chorus.

"Wrong... wrong... wrong... wrong... wrong... wrong..."

It was all like a nightmare – running from an enemy you couldn't see. But unlike a nightmare, it didn't seem to be nearing the end.

"What do they want from us?" Ron cried by her side. "What did we do?"

"We went to Knockturn Alley, that's what we did," Hermione snapped. "You did, better to say!"

"Who asked you to follow?" Seamus said.

"Seamus, if it wasn't for Hermione, we'd all have been icicles by now!" Harry yelled – he was a few feet ahead.

The dreaded voices grew silent as unexpectedly as they had appeared. Hermione stopped, catching her breath. After the running, the air seemed even colder.

She turned around – and saw them. The grey women didn't lose them after all. They were standing at a distance, looking impassively at the group, and didn't seem bothered by the long run. However, they didn't move closer anymore.

"We must have crossed some magical border," said Hermione. "But now we've crossed it back again. Look at these women – they aren't attacking us while we're standing here. If we come just a little closer..."

Trembling, she took several steps towards the women – and they began walking to her again, and the chorus sang anew. Hermione shrank back and jumped to safety. The grey-skinned women stopped, not betraying a slightest emotion.

"They're guardians, it seems," Harry agreed. "What are they guarding, I wonder?"

He waved to the women and cried:

"Er... I'm sorry! Could you just tell us where we are? We are students of Hogwarts, we got here by accident!"

He might have just as well asked the trees. The women stood motionless and silent.

"It's no use, Harry," said Hermione. "I don't know what creatures are these, but I wouldn't talk to them if I were you. Let's just go away and search for normal people. Whatever this place was, it's guarded by clearly Dark magic, and I don't want to deal with it once again!"

"Well, what do you suggest? Even Ron and I are now too tired to walk."

"Let's go just a bit further," she pleaded. "Who knows? We might see someone able to help!"

"We might or we might not," Harry argued. "Let's go along the border. Perhaps there will be someone more talkative than these things."

"Someone more dangerous, better to say!"

"I didn't say we'll cross again. We'll just keep to it. I mean, we have the right to go near the border if we aren't actually trespassing! What reason should even the Darkest wizards have to attack us?"

"Let's hope they'll have none," Hermione murmured. Ron and Seamus backed Harry's suggestion, and soon the whole party set off yet once more.

After a while, the scenery changed somehow – the forest thinned, and then completely gave way to a hillside with only a few trees and occasional lakes and rivers. The grey women were finally left behind, but the voices remained. Sometimes, when Hermione accidentally ventured too near the border, she heard them. Now they were murmuring some gibberish that sounded a bit like "troll ash" or something similar. But the tone remained the same – quiet yet threatening.

In the Auror Headquarters, Medusa Aenner was vehemently denying any involvement in the students' disappearance.

Yes, she had talked to the girl. A very nice and polite girl she was. Yes, Medusa offered to show her around her shop – she wanted to show the girl some useful artefacts. Did she, Medusa, cast any spell on Miss – what's the name – Granger? Nonsense, how can Miss Tonks believe such an accusation! She, Medusa Aenner, is always law-abiding! She's not like some ruffians that sometimes vandalize her shop. Oh no. Besides, there was no reason to cast spells. Miss Granger was very nice and polite. Not many of modern youngsters are nice and polite.

Did she see the boys before the girl? No, she didn't. She was inside her shop.

Did she create a Portkey? Of course not. She had no need for a Portkey.

"We'll use Veritaserum," Moody said decidedly.

"I don't think it's necessary, especially since our supply's rather small," Lucius Malfoy cut in. "It's obvious this woman knows nothing. I think she's so very eager to prove her innocence because she __is__ guilty of one other thing: trying to lure Miss Granger into her precious Quiet Mandrake."

Mrs. Aenner made a quick calculation. If she confessed to that, it would be the end of the Quiet Mandrake Public House for sure, and she'll land herself into the Ministry Prison for some time. But, well, the Ministry Prison wasn't Azkaban, and she would still have Finest Forgeries when she became free again. While if she denied this too, Moody would use Veritaserum, and then she'll get a sentence in Azkaban... no, Lucius Malfoy will plainly Obliviate her before she would utter a word. And Mrs. Aenner valued her memories.

She assumed a befuddled and then a repentant expression.

"Well, yes, yes, he's right, I tried to do it, I'm sorry!" she wailed. "Miss Granger was a very pretty girl – tastefully dressed too – I thought she'd be a success. But she didn't take a step inside, I swear it! She didn't!"

"Who else was in the vicinity while you talked to the girl?" Lucius Malfoy asked sharply. His own wand was already checked and double-checked with __Priori Incantatem__ , but he didn't want the Ministry to think he knew more about the children's vanishing than he pretended.

Mrs. Aenner was only too glad to draw suspicion and attention away from herself.

"Zed Gerymond," she said readily. "He was interested in the girl. Too interested, if you get my meaning. I __always__ said he was a bad lot. A really bad lot."

 _ _He was under Petrificus for most of the time, but you don't need to know that! If Zed's put behind the bars, it serves him right. He owes me about fifty Galleons in total.__

"Detain Medusa Aenner," Moody said to Tonks. "We'll search for Gerymond. Anyone else you could name, Mrs. Aenner?"

"No, I think not."

"Fine. You'll be held in Ministry prison cells, level two."

As Tonks led her away, Mrs. Aenner sighed with relief. The second level of the Ministry Prison wasn't that bad. She hoped Gerymond would be intelligent enough to confess creating a Portkey. A good thing she managed to put the incriminating wand into his shop's window. Confession or no confession, without the kids' actual evidence Gerymond was surely the culprit. If he admitted his guilt and told the Aurors it was only a practical joke, he might get away without Azkaban.

She was right. After all, she didn't live sixty years in Knockturn Alley for nothing – it does sharpen your self-preservation skills. Zed Gerymond was arrested less than an hour later, the three wands found in his possession were checked, and one of them had definitely created a Portkey not long ago.

However, Gerymond couldn't say in what direction the Portkey was actually created. He randomly thought up some most used directions such as Celtic burial sites (the common meeting-places for half-legal dealers), but Moody cut him short, saying that all these directions were long monitored, and no one had turned up there. Finally, the elderly Auror ordered Tonks to bring back Medusa Aenner – but while Gerymond was being interrogated, someone had Obliviated her for good. She didn't remember a single thing from the past two days.

"A dead end," Tonks said grimly as Mrs. Aenner was once again escorted into her cell. "If she doesn't remember – and Gerymond doesn't know – __how__ are we going to find the kids? They can be anywhere in the world. What if they're in the midst of the Pacific Ocean?"

"I don't think so," Professor McGonagall said, trying to maintain her usual calm. "Neither Medusa Aenner nor Zed Gerymond has the potential to create a Portkey this far. They must be in Europe... I hope."

"The Pacific Ocean, Tonks, is monitored by the Shamans' Guild of Oceania," said Moody. "These guys don't know much of proper spellbinding, but elemental and sensory magic is their bread and butter. They would have noticed a newcomer wizard's presence in their region immediately. Unlike some people present here, they don't forget about CONSTANT VIGILANCE!"

"By the way," said Snape, who had been silent before – he never liked dealing with Moody. "They must be in some Dark-magical place."

"How do __you__ know it so well?"

"Mr. Moody, please!" Professor McGonagall saw that any moment the men might start fighting each other and forget the whole point.

"You said about the Shamans' Guild. I daresay their European colleagues aren't much worse, even if they use detectors instead of sensory magic. They'd have notified us by now..."

"...If they haven't been in league with whoever cast the Portkey?" Tonks whispered.

"Therefore, we don't need to turn every inch of earth upside down. I thought you could have figured as much."

"Severus, there are still many Dark places even in England," said McGonagall. "Do you have any ideas how can we narrow the search just a little more?"

Snape shook his head:

"These rascals from Knockturn Alley could have connections anywhere."

"Any Dark wizard will sell his wand for getting a chance to take Harry Potter prisoner," Moody added.

"We aren't going to sit doing nothing, are we?" Tonks whispered, desperate to help.

"Of course not! Right now I'll be dispatching inspections to all Dark hiding places in Britain. Then I'll alert the French Wand Squadron, the Benelux Light Magic Committee, and the Scandinavian Yggdrasil Army. Just in case the kids did land somewhere on the continent. Tonks, make yourself useful and check the village of Varings in East Anglia, there's evidence that Avery's minions have been spotted there several times."

Diana Greengrass was pacing to and fro in her Muggle apartment, Elfric on her shoulder. She didn't like where everything was going. Didn't like it at all.

Everything pointed to Quirinus being responsible for the latest Dark magic attacks at Hogwarts. Professor Snape showed it openly that he suspected Quirinus! Merlin's beard, it was simply impossible! Quirinus – trying to kill a student? Quirinus – arranging four students' kidnapping! Sheer idiocy.

But also everything pointed to him having greatly changed during his sabbatical. What if he simply went crazy? He was so nervous, he could... oh, he could go mad. Poor darling! It's all her father's fault, it was he who almost killed Quirinus.

Anyway, she couldn't simply stand by and watch. Whether he was innocent or guilty, she had to save him. Moody... Moody is always so rash in his decisions... he can throw an Avada at Quirinus before thinking it over...

But what could she do? Quirinus was obviously not himself. He didn't reply to her letter.

She had to see him. Personally.

But Professor Snape must have notified the Headmaster... they wouldn't let Diana inside Hogwarts...

 _ _Stuff and nonsense. I'm a mere step away from getting an Auror's certificate. It's not the first time for me to walk into danger. Dumbledore's kind. He'll understand. He did hush up our story and save Quirinus.__

"Well, Elfric?" she asked, petting the owl. "Shall we go and find it all out?"

The owl hooted gently but nervously. It obviously didn't want to go to Hogwarts.

The burning coals in the fireplace moulded themselves to form Moody's face. Diana bit her lip. As usual! What did he want now?

"Inspection. Malfoy Manor," that was all that Moody said before his face disappeared again.

Diana stomped her foot in anger. Moody, for all his faults, somehow knew everything about his trainees. He must have suspected about her and Quirinus. Why else would he send her to the most difficult place to inspect? Of course, dealing with the Malfoys will take a whole day if not more. This family was firm on doing everything strictly within the law... or everything on the surface, at least.

Diana went into the bathroom and cried her heart out for a solid quarter of an hour. Afterwards, it took some Cosmetic Charms to hide the puffy cheeks and the red nose, but she appeared on the Malfoys' doorstep looking the very image of a proper-behaved pureblood young lady.

"Miss Greengrass!" Narcissa Malfoy, serene and pale, greeted her with a charming smile. "What an unexpected honor!"

 _ _Meaning I've come at the worst possible moment.__

"Mrs. Malfoy. How wonderful to see you again."

 _ _I can't stand you, you hypocritical bitch. The White Witch... yes, that's who you are. Just like the White Witch or Lady of the Green Kirtle from Narnia would have looked. Sending children to man-eaters with that icy smile...__

"Miss Greengrass," Draco drawled in a bored voice, not raising his head from a gold Gobstones set.

 _ _Meaning he knows I've been disowned and doesn't want to waste time on ceremonies with someone equal to a Mudblood now.__

"Mr. Draco. I've heard of your excellent progress at Hogwarts."

 _ _Heard of it all right. Professor McGonagall says you've got as many serious warnings for your behavior as any of the Marauders at your age. Only you don't seem to possess charisma equal to theirs.__

"Would you like some tea?"

 _ _The White Witch offering Edmund sweets... Calm down. Concentrate, Diana Greengrass.__

"Thank you very much, I will be delighted."

 _ _I screen every cup and every pastry with a detector up my sleeve. You know that I do it. I know that you know. You know that I know that you know. I know that you know... oh, bother! We both know just as well it would be foolish on your part to spellbind or poison me. Moody looks after his own.__

"Lucius will be so sorry he has missed you."

 _ _Oh, right. A hint for me. He'll be gone too long. I shouldn't wait for him. Don't try this old trick on me.__

"I hope he's doing well."

 _ _I hope he'll soon be caught red-handed with something.__

The tea – the necessary ceremony before the actual inspection – progressed in the same way. Diana felt herself boiling inside, more than the elegant porcelain kettle did. These elevated purebloods! How she hated them! The manners, the bows, the smiles – oh, these horrible smiles! – and underneath all this, such rotten and lowly souls. Oh, Quirinus wasn't like that at all...

Going on with the routine inspection, Diana imagined that Elfric's blunder of a year ago never happened. That Quirinus didn't leave for his awful sabbatical. They would have been married by now... She pictured returning home – not to her apartment, but to Quirinus's place. Reading Muggle fantasy books together and discussing their concept of magic. Quirinus telling his endless stories about Indonesia. Elfric flying between them, hooting to each of them in turn. Plans for the summer – a holiday in wilderness, in the Amazon jungle or in an African savannah or in the Himalayas. Perhaps a newborn child already on her lap...

"Lucius! I didn't expect you so early!" Narcissa Malfoy's shrill voice brought Diana back to the remorseless reality.

 _ _Oh, I see. She warns him I'm in the house. Let's go on to his study before he comes here and throws me out...__

But she hardly had the time even to glance around Lucius Malfoy's study. Moody's owl bolted inside through the open window, carrying a note.

 _ _Return immediately. News of the children.__

Diana didn't even have time to properly "butter up" the end of the inspection, as she called it. Meaning that she Apparated to the Ministry, saying barely any goodbye to the hosts. She knew that they would certainly complain to Moody about it, but she was also sure he won't scold her. He wouldn't have sent an owl – his rather unceremonious owl, to put it very mildly – if it hadn't been really, really urgent.

"These young Aurors! No manners at all!" said Narcissa, looking at the empty place where Diana Greengrass had been a moment ago.

"They actually believe we're hiding something. No respect for the family," Draco added.

"I wonder, though..." Lucius, too, looked at where Diana had been standing. "What was it that made her leave this suddenly?"

"Some thing or other," Narcissa said vaguely.

"No, it might be actually connected with that bunch of first years..."

"But you've taken care of it."

"I underestimated their idiocy," said Lucius. "Moreover, I didn't think my own son will be foolish enough to lead them to Knockturn Alley."

"Father!" Draco cried.

"Draco, it's your fault, and you know it. If our reputation is tarnished after all this, the fault will also be yours and yours alone."

"Mom!" the boy turned to Narcissa for support, but she looked at him coldly. The honor of the Malfoys was something to be valued above everything. Certainly above the petty school grudges.

"Let's hope that the Knockturn Alley folk didn't tell much."

"Oh, I've seen to that, Cissy."

"In that case, we might get out safely."

"Not if these children are found. It won't be too hard to trace their disappearance..."

"What do you have to worry about? Borgin will have enough brains to destroy their memories, and in that case, there's nothing against you. Oh, come now, Lucius. Four silly schoolchildren can't and won't do any real harm to us. Even if all the Aurors are roused to search for them."

"How can you be sure?"

"Even if the kids are found, there's nothing to indicate it was you who Obliviated them, and they're too young to think of starting a proper investigation."

"They're too young, but Moody isn't."

"Oh, I don't think so! If Moody had __carte blanche__ , he would have investigated everything in our world down to the last wee toad at Hogwarts. The Minister won't allow, he values you too much."

"Sometimes I'm not so convinced."

"Lucius, you will manage. I know it."

"Cissy, dear."

She stretched out her hand, and he took it.

Draco was still quietly whining about everyone blaming him for no reason at all.


End file.
